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Literature Text
If it weren't for your eyes,
I could sleep in peace tonight.
They scorch my soul.
You laugh haunts me
In the most disturbing way.
I keep wishing that the days
Would drown the pain of your memory,
But I keep remembering.
If it weren't for the way
You used to hold me....
And kiss me when I needed you.
I would feel the color seep through my skin.
How could you forget what we had?
Are you hiding inside this new version of self?
If it weren't for your stupid freestyle raps
You would invent in my car....
When I was "The lovely lady to your left"
Who you thought "Was the best..."
I might could drive without feeling you there.
If you love me,
How can you leave me?
If you think I'm the one,
Why can't you free me?
I could sleep in peace tonight.
They scorch my soul.
You laugh haunts me
In the most disturbing way.
I keep wishing that the days
Would drown the pain of your memory,
But I keep remembering.
If it weren't for the way
You used to hold me....
And kiss me when I needed you.
I would feel the color seep through my skin.
How could you forget what we had?
Are you hiding inside this new version of self?
If it weren't for your stupid freestyle raps
You would invent in my car....
When I was "The lovely lady to your left"
Who you thought "Was the best..."
I might could drive without feeling you there.
If you love me,
How can you leave me?
If you think I'm the one,
Why can't you free me?
Literature
Symphony of Dreams
I want to explode with you
softly
gently
nothing like an explosion;
our fire in shades of faith and fleeting touches.
I want to lay on the grass
my head on your stomach
and make a movie about us out of the moving clouds
using the sun and barely visible stars as props.
I want to make music with you
a symphony of dreams and realities we can see
but never touch.
I want to hold everything you are in the palm
of my hand
so I can feel your heart's desires seep into my skin.
I want your all
your anything
your pain and your joy.
I want to help you realize
that you're not alone.
I don't want to miss you anymore, love.
Literature
Why Did That Night Have To End
Memories cling to my fragile figure.
Dropping to the ground,
Splattering around me like rain.
All that's left is your silhouette.
A mere figment of my imagination.
But if I close my eyes and pretend hard enough,
It feels like you're here again.
That you're mine again.
Your body pressed against mine.
Hands lingering on my skin,
Gliding down to my hips.
Swaying back and fourth slowly to the beat of our hearts.
My head finding its way to your chest.
Feeling your chest rise then fall.
Listening to your heart beat steadily.
I open my eyes no longer to your face.
Only to the empty night sky.
The stars are only a reflection of your
Literature
Mornings.
Mornings with you taste golden, like
that dawn we escaped together to
watch the sun rise from the asphalt
and burn its way down the road. And
we sat like sparrows above the dotted
yellow lines, waiting while the world
drove by and your face glowed hazel
and copper and hope. In the mornings,
when we share stories and wishes and
body heat, you feel more real to me
than anything I've ever read about,
than anything I've ever seen.
Mornings with you are hazy smiles and
soft eye lashes, like every morning I've
laid in your bed watching the dust ride
through the air on beams of light, not
having to do anything more than
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