Friday, November 6, 2009

Here's Looking At You, Kid.

I felt the purple sky come down over the buildings when the light turned green and you held my hand. Your smile reverberated off of the street signs. The smell of coffee fit well between our touching fingertips and kept our words company. (Lets take it slow, there are far places that this could go, could go.) But I won't pretend your hands holding mine and swinging me across the dance floor didn't spark our two hour conversation later; that our time spent making jokes at diner tables didn't lead to kisses over songs of Clark Gable; that our kisses didn't lead to long talks of how incredible that we were us and we were all we were. Ourselves. A word we figured we knew to ourselves and with other people, until we readily admitted while we laughed we didn't have a damn clue about until: now. You led me down the sidewalk, shivering,cold with the weather's drop, and made me fight for the side closest to the road, never letting my hand drop. And your crazy, and anxious, and have beautiful, deep, knowing eyes. Your face tells me everything: you have been through much and have found yourself lost inside many faces; that your smile is as much a part of your disaster and it's that demise of human condition that brings this higher. Your young and witty, laid back, energetic, beautiful; but you're dark, and intellegent, and bemused by the more cynical yet beautiful things. But I am crazy, and anxious, and want to know you. We kissed over my closed front gate and I grabbed your face because the feel of your skin feels, just right.

This feels just right.
Let's take it slow; there are many far places that this could go.
Let's go.

(I looked in the mirror tonight and saw a woman so different that she looked like me. And she was happy to see me.)

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