and when we talked about pirates and cowboys it still made me smile and when he is guilty of something else he sounded so childlike and when he said he was sorry for a moment i thought he meant it and today im looking the other way. i wont let him infect my head with thoughts of travel and music and knowledge and all the things we talked of one late night when we drank jack daniels and laughed for hours and just because its not the same anymore doesnt make me miss it and crave it less than i did then and just because we are tired of this doesnt mean its easier.
dont ask me what im thinking because i couldnt tell you right now. what im thinking of includes the cowboys and the space caddets and the pirates that were ours in our dreams and the music we would love and the games we played and the steam from our cold bodies and if one more person tells me this is poetry ill cry harder.
ill cry harder than you have ever seen because it aches and it stopped and i dont want to feel the ache again. this is my torture. 'when i see you, what more can i do to get it through to you? to help you make it through, you dont see me, i let you in for free just to make you see that we might be different but we have the same intent'... more than normal. it doesnt work without the music but you get the same idea.