Monologue of bedtime questions and confessions
Daydreamer, daydreams. Soon turning in my sheets, the night has fallen.
Rushing mind, forgotten thoughts, but I'm not forgetting her.
My heart is beating, fingers tensed.
My breath is becoming short.
Raspy gasps, lips, and teeth, this feeling is consuming all of me, I'm not complaining.
But what if I told her, that her eyes are as deep as the Atlantic?
Would she believe me if I said, I'd count the times she smiles in those 60 minutes?
Or how she twiddles with her pen; like it's a prince she's dancing with all night long.
It's something so simple as a glance, a wave of heat that I'd ride until it has passed me.
Her smile so perfect, like her mind; so in sync with mine, but I still don't know what she thinks when she smiles.
Does she know what I mean when I say I love her?
Does she feel the tears I've cried over all these sleepless nights?
I try not to worry her.
So I stand here on the beach, my train of thought being washed out by the sea, like the blood that runs to my cheeks, whenever our paths meet.