Sunday, April 27, 2008

Talk of Little Things.

I've never been in love you know.
I wonder sometimes perhaps it's more than just fear.
Maybe I just don't know how.
She closed the door and left.
Down the hall with the yellowed glass, tattered walls.
Down the halls she'd walked a thousand times.

He sat in wait.
Perhaps of her return.
Perhaps just in thought.
But then he closed his eyes.
And all went dark.

What's it like, she asked. Being in love.

It's kind of like a fire in your veins, he reminisced.
It doesn't only hurt sometimes...but always.

His pauses were always full of pain.
She knew, then, he'd done more than just taste it.
Love had once engulfed him.
And it took all he had to keep himself,
From going under once again.


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