Most of all it is her locks that miss. Before she straightens them out or after, they still manage to tangle me. Seldom are they appreciated enough. She doesn’t care.
She also knows nothing about the two lines that form at the end of her lips at either side. Her mirror doesn’t reflect her correctly or she misses the point.
I stand behind her and in front of the mirror thanking the principle of reflection for giving me both her sides at once. Her neck and her eyes… Her back and her waist… she and her…and me
I need her. I am also very used to her. But that’s not why I miss her. It’s because I love her. It’s because I need to love her and it’s because I am used to loving her.
She misunderstands me. My insecurities for my trust… I misunderstand her…for her security and mistrust. She speaks of horses, ribbons and perhaps all things brown.
I miss her inability to spring out of bed as afternoon dawns and consequent urge to get back into rumpled sheets before the polished have their suppers. Yet I have spent days with her awake.
This isn’t an ode. This is nothing besides a silent night talking through a lonely boy sitting on tilted chair and his air breathing Laptop.
awww…almost makes me long to fall in love !!
Nice work. It is good to write about love. I can feel it on your writing. Now, i am sure i have my lady expecting me to write the same for her. Thank you very much my man!