cshirley
Almost. I almost fell for his pathetically sweet, golden-honey dipped sentences, almost.
It was only a few years ago that I swore I would break out of here. Now, I can see the effects of the harsh frost staring up at me from outside. I think I'll stay indoors.
Even though you're a thousand miles away I can still remember every detail of your face, every mark on your body. Sometimes if I allow my mind to wonder far enough, I can still remember the intimate tracing of your fingertips across my skin. Invisible fingerprints embedded in a sea of hope. These are the moments in which I would breathe in deeply, it seemed, for the first time. Inhale, you. Exhale, you. Breathing to survive.
Wake up. It's a new day, but I can already predict today's future before the sun comes up. Routine takes has (is) taking it's toll on me. I feel it pushing on all sides of the bed, urging me to leap up... but I resist. I think if I can force my eyes shut just a little longer, I might be able to wakeup someplace else. Anywhere else. Lead me into the oblivion. But the snooze period is over. The alarm rings again, urging me to open my eyes. I obey.