He saw me in the cafe. I wished he turned around. He walked into his own death bed.
|"I think I'm happy."
And I think you're missing the point here. Your fingertips are shaking. There's a rhythm to your lie-it's in the pace of your eyes around the room and the bopping of your head. I can sense you're unhappy, it's in the way your body is leaning towards the door. You have a grim smile complimenting your voice. How come your nose isn't coloring into a strawberry along with your ears? How come you can't focus your mind on my presence in front of you?
"She's really nice."
What a nice replacement for my flaming tongue.
"And she loves me."
But what an easy thing to do. Even the cold-hearted queen of ice could be melted by the starry night captured in your eyes...
"Do you love her?"
Well there he is, the little boy from down the lane. All scared and shocked by reality again. I know where each screw has been hidden away from the hammer...I've hitten each one of them. Have I found another crack, in your retched heart? Do you regret meeting me from the start?
"My replacement? The ashes of my flame? Have you forgotten who I am? Should I remind you of my name?"
Ah...there it is- the automatic response to my touch. The twitch between your thumb and ring finger ending in a little rub. Have I dried out your lips with longing? Have your eyes been blinded from beauty? How come galaxies have entered your eyes? Should I reach for you but stop midway to tease the goosebumps covering your arms?
"Would you like to play a game?"
"I lost in the last."
Poor thing. Addicted to the past.