it's like snow on a crowded street. i see everyone else with crisp blacks and grays and i'm not wearing a coat. i don't need one. truthfully, i'm not cold. i like the looks. and there is the white stuff. it's nothing more than a small distraction at this point but every so often it's a bit cold on my skin.

small little pricks of cold.

it's like my heart hanging out here on your line. i see everything you could be to me but i don't want to let go and drop down to your grasp. i like seeing you there. i know you're waiting. and there is the effort of resisting. it's nothing more than being a bit more tired at the end of each day at this point but at least i don't have to let go and hurl myself headlong into your grace.

small little aches and pains.

i'm lying. it's not like any of this.

it's like standing alone in a tunnel.
it's like waiting for the phone to ring on the fifth day.
it's like dreaming your face every night.
it's like being the last one to leave the coffeeshop.
it's like walking home alone when you don't want to.

it's like two hearts. apart.

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