The grain of the sand
The pen of the scribe
The song of the siren
The visions of the seer
Stuff by Me
12 Mar 2005
It's not what I wanted. Six months. Just six months, and I'll come running back to you. I'll race along the oceanside, hair flying and briny breath breathing. I will find you.
And by then, I will be strong. My walls will have been built back up again, and I won't be susceptible to your hurt. I won't be compromising.
You told me once that you thought we would someday stop talking, that we would never talk again. You told me that I would be the one to stop talking and that you would never stop. Well, I won't lose you to clairvoyant visions and apprehensive declarations.
I will keep you close.
A part of me still worries. What if I manage to keep you close by sheer will and coquettry? What if you will later find someone more interesting, more vitalizing?
What if my time ends?
What if I lose you despite everything I have tried?
Six months- is that long enough for a death? Is that long enough for a rebirth?
Tell me it is. Tell me I won't lose you. Tell me you feel.