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[scribblecheshirecat]

I Have Yet To Learn How Not To Be His

For sure the scar on his left arm won’t stay that long. Because it’s made from a pact that’s nearly forgotten. If I ask the wanderers how they wander around time, I am sure the answer will be the same as his. His color and his faded blue jeans, leather jacket from the thrift store, and the smell of cedarwood on his wrists, you could tell I found my temporary home. Like a hermit crab found its next home after weeks of house-hunting. I am his coordinator of dreams, and I feel responsible. In the sea bed where we tell lies, I’m saving one word of honesty; I love you for the longest time.

There’s a bridge of clouds above my roof. I’m calling him to take it slow. Rain won’t stop if we both hate getting wet. Sometimes I do get it but most of the time I don’t. Humming in silence, whispering madness. The ring won’t stop if we don’t admit it. This temporary feeling will stain my skin forever. It’s like there are four seasons, but he made it five.

He made me feel things.

He made me feel alive.

But one thing’s for sure,

I cannot allow these feelings to linger forever.