and we'll text and text of the good times that'll never happen.
when we text you'll send me long paragraphs and i'll be sure to absorb every single letter you type, and then send you a paragraph back. but my words will be filled with vague and hard to read 'i love you's cause i want you to know how i feel but not unless you don't want to. though, i think you do cause i can read between the lines and see the untyped messages, meaning i can see the 'me too's or 'i really really like you's, unless of course, you don't want me to and then i can pretend to never even know of them.
but for me its hard to think that someone who doesn't care would text me at midnight to wish me happy birthday, or steal away at moments just to call me, or write a paragraph that goes over the amount of characters you're allowed to have so your phone makes you break that paragraph half, thus creating two text messages.
yet, for some reason, doubt and fear will pull at my thumb away from the send button though my heart pulls toward it and it really just becomes a massive game of tug-o-war. my heart always wins though, because it's pure muscle and my doubt is just a thought that likes to think we'll never be more than just words sent by an invisible force on a device we both won't touch, just only one of us.
we'll talk and talk of the good times that'll never happen.
when we're walking side by side my body screams in pain from loneliness and needs the medicine of your touch, but to the world 'we're simply just friends' and nothing more. though, our stolen moments during the day between classes or our 'accidental' encounters at the mall make me believe otherwise. cause i've kissed your face a hundred times before and not just in my sweet dreams i wish were a reality, but when we've been together in the shadows of everyone's naiveness. my lips burn of desire against your warm lips that i have yet to know what it tastes like cause i've never kissed an emotion like the ones on your lips before.
but then outsiders try to be on the inside and it scares the hell out of me cause you aren't ready for anyone to know about you and me. especially me. and yes i'll admit it hurts but the way your presence is like a magnet for me, pulling me in to be with you, and the way you taste is so exotic, and the way talk to me, and the way...and the way....your becoming all of me and i'm just hoping i'm becoming all of you. so my greedy and hungry heart becomes more powerful over the hurt and embarrassment that you don't want to be seen with me, cause i'm good at pretending not to think that we are only the words that roll off our tongues when we're alone, bathing in the shadows and running around the light, never really fully touching unless it's the middle of the night and then even then it's only a kiss and once in a damn blue moon it's a hand hold.
god help me, i think i'm drowning in all the 'could be's and 'would be's and 'should be's instead of 'will be's and 'now be's and 'soon be's. no wonder we created words like 'hell' cause we need something to describe what we feel are but also words like 'love' to describe why we live. words. we're never really more than words, and that's why i'm constantly drowning in them.
also, for you religious folks, it's not about religion i just used the words 'god' and 'hell' for figures of speech and meaning. i know i shouldn't but i can't help it. sorry