Thoughts

A handshake can be the beginning of a friendship.

A handshake can say "Hi, nice to meet you."

A Handshake can close a business deal.

A handshake can begin the process for peace.

A handshake can create trust.

A handshake can stop war.
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Revenge can start war..

Revenge can be the cause of violence .

Revenge can be the start of murder.

Revenge can break trust

Revenge can cause school tragedies.

Revenge can cause hatred.
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A smile can brighten someone's day.

A smile can make someone sad, smile.

A smile can show understanding.

A smile can start trust.

A smile makes you feel better, and othes.

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Love can cause jealousy.

Love can create miracles.

Love can end war.

Love can conquer anything.

Love can be spread throughout the world.

Love can build a bridge to peace.

Love is the best emotion of all,, yet the most complicated.

I choose Love.

Originally posted by angeleyes101

Love is the best emotion of all,, yet the most complicated.

I choose Love.

of course it is the best emotion, when there are so much chemicals put into work, you can bet it can create some magic

love is the best emotion i have ever felt!!! Its a natural high!!!!!!

Bah, Love is an anti-drug!

Go with HATRED! That'll get you REAL high

Yes it is magical. Love can give you a feeling of euphoria..an instant high like no drug ever could, or, will. It is the most beautiful feeling in the world yet it can be the most hurtful when the one you love doesn't love you in return.
People fall in and out of love, and to me that is just an attraction to that person, if it is real love, then you know in your heart that no matter what you cannot live without that person, or function on a daily basis.....when a person is in love they know, they feel it, they need that person always, and if it is the right one, they would give their life for that certain one that they love.

From days long gone...


Sweetly nostalgic and sickeningly regretful, blurring the hours between Yesterday and now. Like sticking reminders to the dash, only to be found days later when they're worthless and memory-filled. I am the bright blue post-it on the wall, that I you forgot about two days ago.

Its too hard to articulate this urgency, this pause, this overwhelming sense that Yesterday was something to be wary of. It is shame and wonder all wrapped into one. It is everything. And it is nothing. An overflowing void. And the surfaces look blank, but it's the words that make my heart clench. Or skip.

Its you.
[That makes my heart skip.]

Your words keep me hoping. Keep me breathing. Keep me sitting here staring at the blank screen, simply aching to utter such beauty as you do with such ease. But each thread of thought in my mind is moving so fast that I cant grab on to a single one long enough to comprehend. Some people call this writer's block. It feels more like my own personal hell.

And theres so much weighing down on my heart, and no way to spell it out in words. I sit down each day in this very chair, and poise my hands over this very keyboard, and nothing happens. Well, sometimes a line or two will form on my lips, but as soon as my eyes scan over it for a second time, my stomache turns and I hit 'delete' as fast as I can. I dont know what to do anymore. I'm stuck.

And a few days ago (give or take; the days all run together anyways), the truth hit me with such startling force that I was left breathless. "You know how there's uppers and downers? Well your like a downer, in human form." Ouch. Well that was brutally honest. Tell me now, how is one supposed to respond to a statement like that? I try a nervous laugh. A smile, a "No, I'm not mad", and an excuse to escape to the library to hide the tears welling up in my eyes but i wont crywontcrywontcrycrycry. But the worst part is, I know its the truth.

And the other truth is, I'm not doing so great. I'm broken down and worn out. Too worn out to be bothered with beautiful words anymore. Take away the metaphors and I'm nothing. Just a girl who is falling apart faster that she can put herself back together. And I really wish someone would help me remember how to breathe, because I cant quite recall, and this panic wont seem to go away.

So here it is. Here's my update. Here's my heart, gushing out onto the page.
...So why do I feel the same as before?

I find everything so empty and meaningless. it's nothing new, maybe i just notice it more. i can't see the point in most things....if it doesn't have a purpose than why? surely someone out there finds it amusing but are we just brought up this way to think it is amusing. i just want some stimulation. i used to watch this programme and envied the actresses on it. i tried to be like them and the characters they played. i watched it the other day and realised they were all a bunch of 20 somethings trying to make it big. i wondered where they'd end up and how they got there. it just didn't mean anything. sometimes i really wish i saw things simply as i did a few years back, but then i think i wouldn't want to be deluded forever.

They fight like any ordinary couple, and love like a soft summer night with tender warm breezes whisping along their necks that make them feel sensual, magical, as one, when they love.They learn how to get along like two children in a schoolyard who are still strangers, like prisoners on a block, and brother and sisters. They learn to co-exist, like humans and animals do, lke love and hate, peace and war. They start to see things more clearly like a pair of glasses put on eyes that are almost blind, like a windshield, after it has been cleaned, and realizeall the fighting, hate, love, misunderstanding, bitterness, was meant ..meant to make them a stronger team, like a well polished athlete on the winning team.
When they see the new life escaping the clutches of his wife, slipping into the world, brand new, ...the life they created, they know that everything they have ben through has been a lesson, in life that they might grow,and for that moment, that is theirs, the magical life being born.
The tiny fingers reach out as if to say.......teach me what I need to know as I grow, and love me like you love each otherand the tiny fingers grasp the hand as if it never wants to let it go, and the hand that holds those tiny fingers, knows that they will learn from this tiny miracle. all three of them become a barren wall, with a blank canvas to paint the future, and with each new color painted on ..and as each year passes, the canvas is bright, and they learn some more, as they keep painting.

People can be so idiotic sometimes. They think of others as being insignificant, and they place themselves first. Leaving those that really do need the help behind. It's almost as though they really think that we are nothing. Worthless piles of degrading &hit.. if I must describe. Well, I got news for you...when people are spending so much time alone, one realizes that this is not what life is all about.
In our days that we are forced to live alone, we think marvelous thoughts that unfortunately no one shall ever hear. Maybe it's that no one really cares to know, or maybe they would attempt to listen. But, it is within our diverse minds that we realize in order to survive we can't fake at life. We have to remain strong. There have been many a times when I was young that I have been so alone that I laugh at how absurd that it all really was/is. People need to realize that the world isn't just theirs... it belongs to the whole universe. It is part of the universe. And we humans have yet to find out what really is going on out there, so how can we claim what we don't know?

As I am writing this, people are living a life that is paved out for them. And it's not just by people they know..our whole da-ned society is trying to pave a path out for us. Unfortunately, a good amount of them are to blind to see it. Success is based on your ability to have one person say that they love you and would be lost without you. To help someone smile when they didn't think it was possible. To stop that one friend that's going to commit suicide. To grasp hold of reality as well as imagination.

So as people come in and out of my life everyday, they only grasp hold of certain qualities about me. I may have a smile on my face, but smiles can be deceiving. Take one look into the eyes of a person, and their whole life story could be told. But no one takes the time to do simple things such as that. Emotions explode within my very being. I may be surrounded by tons of faces, but the loneliness is still there. People everywhere breathe music..and arts for that matter. Darkness courses through our veins. Everytime one feels alone, their wrists beg..no plead for a razor's kiss to set one free from this indescribable pain and misery. Remaining strong is essential now. And people say that we're crazy. But we see life for what it really is..and you follow the lies of life.

So as you mock us, thinking you're so much more superior, we laugh and go about our days..considering that's all we can do because no one bothers to actually listen. All that you drones care about is perfection, but that's not what's important here. You try so many things to be at peace with yourself and nature, when that isn't possible. We're so diverse. As hard as I try, nothing matters now. This is destruction of the worst kind. Take a hard look at your life..is it what you really want it to be? Or could you make it so much more?

So as I wander through the dark alleys in my brain. I pause. If out of nowhere, the blood was forced out of my veins, or the air stolen from my lungs, I would look around in disgust..for you have beaten me. Be yourself. Be strong and travel through the journey of your "pointless" life. You're the one letting your life fade away, like a distorted picture. Keep what you know, and never forget it. And as the stars in the sky search for another life to waste... maybe you can be saved. Not once did I tell you life was going to be easy. Life is supposed to be difficult or else we'd be bored. Look past me and destroy me. Laugh when you see the scars both physically and emotionally. I will continue to give and try to help others until the very day I die..despite the gratitude I may or may not get back.

Conformity is a bunch of bull. People yearn to have power and wealth. Open up your eyes and you will see the powers you behold. You have your own wealth. Although it may not be in materialistic things, you have wealth in spirit. Conform to nothing. Be yourself no matter what. Stop being cynical and watch me paint this tainted picture out for you. Come watch me drown in my emotions..those same emotions that you choose to hide. Slowly and painfully, you melt away..as do I.

Maybe we're not so different..for we both bleed the same blood. I'm just as ignorant as you. While you incessantly gawk at me, my wall crumbles. Well, your wall crumbles too. Someday, we will be one in the same, seeing as how we're crumbling now. We are nothing but injudicious, mindless teens to most..but we are sick and tired of life already.

So as I sit in my room, my sanctuary if you will, I worry not about how I may die, or if I won't want it when it comes, because I am pleased with my life thus far. I can stare at death dead in the face, and I will prove to be the strong one. Instead, I worry about going insane before my time comes to a close. Don't bother to care..for perfection will never come. Perfection is not flawless. Come watch us lose our grip and fade. Words lose their meanings. Run out of sympathy now..

Originally posted by Reikuro
Bah, Love is an anti-drug!

Go with HATRED! That'll get you REAL high

Hatred kills, both the hated, and inevitibly the hater.

Originally posted by Reikuro
Bah, Love is an anti-drug!

Go with HATRED! That'll get you REAL high

Ahhh.... The Youth of Today....

You said it.....not me.........but kids are funny......hehe

When he lies his body down in early morning to fall into a deep sleep, to get away from the blinding light, he dreams. He dreams in color. A mix of reds and beige, blurs of yellow and greens. Sometimes he dreams sepia dreams, but those are few and in between. Splatters of colours, he dreams of killing. He dreams of sex.

When he awakes the colours fade. Greys all mix together, and the juxtaposition is well noticed. He feeds off redless blood, it is cold and finite. He thinks of love and the colours is may bring. But, who would want such a un-desirable creature? In this stone building he is just a corpse under the artificial lights.

When it gets too much, he closes his eyes. He thinks of other things. How this place smells of bitter despair, and he can taste it on his tounge. He breathes it in on his tounge.
Does he breathe? He doesn't remember. All he knows is this place isn't home.
He pushes himself so far into dreams that when reality finally hits him hard like a brick stick, he can feel the misery residing in the back of his throat.

Sometimes when he awoke he found a familiar body lingering above him. Hitting him, over and over. He would stay still. Silent. It was a ritual for this man to do this to him. Nothing would stop him. When he finally left he would look down on himself, a blur of blood and bruise. He learned over the years the different shades of grey that certain things were. Blood, tears, cuts, and hate.

He was the one who had created him, if you could use the word 'create' for such a disaster. It was late, after a show in Helsinki and they had known each other for a few years before that. Their bands were friends. He had spent most of his living years singing to a crowd that didn't know the real him. He prayed for death daily. Begged for something, anything to take him out of this cold world.

It was a vampire who had heard his call. His name was Jussi.

He was almost prone to scream and kick, as Jussi cut deep into his neck. Telling him it only hurts for a few moments. The moments you die. When your hearts slows, and your breathing comes in ragged sighs
He remembered Jussi's breath smelled of expensive bourbon and misplaced lust.
His hands were cold, too cold.
They wrapped around him, cradleing him in his last moments of life.
"You have no need to be afraid.. soon we will be together for eternity."
Tears welled up in his dying eyes. Fear was placed on his face, and a smile on the other man's.
Just as he was taking his last breaths he felt the warm liquid of red infinite touch his lips. He tried pushing his mouth to the side. He didn't want his.

If this is what dyiing is, take me back.

Soon he felt the need rise in him to drink, and before he could reach ecstacy, the wrist was pulled away from him and he suddenly felt weightless. He rose, looking at his now transparent skin and the blue veins almost popped.

That was years ago, and he had long since forgotten what it felt like to bathe in sunlight. What colours looked like in a kiss shared between two lovers. What it felt like to be loved in colour.

Ville spent his time in a small town in europe, hiding out. He couldn't be seen. What would they make of it? Years ago he had disappeared. Run off. The tabloids all over were aware, and after a year people just gave up the search. Which, didn't bother him much then, but now it does. Didn't they care enough to devote their lives to find him? He was marked as dead. Which in the long run was true. But.. only certain parts of him were dead. His heart, not beating, but still feeling. If possible. He felt insanity almost daily. He needed to see someone.

Years ago, he had been in love. Un-requited, it's true. He never spoke of his feelings, or who his songs were about. But it all boiled down to one person.
Bammie.
It has been so long since he felt the knot in his stomach when the man would smile.

So, here he is. In West chester. Hoping to catch a glimpse of him. He came a few days ago. He would have walked right into his house, and demanded love. Demanded to see colour. But, Bam is alive. And the living sleep during the night.
Plus, Bam was no longer living at home. He had moved out, quit the show. Quit skating. He moved into a small apartment across the town, it was dark and dingy and Ville often wondered why he had suddenly changed.
He spied on him once. He was flicking a lit cigarette on the ground, and walking towards his apartment. It was dark out, but not so dark that Ville could come into the main streets and in the open. So he stayed in the shadows and watched him walk up to his apartment. He watched him through the windows on the side of the building, while he went up the stairs.


If my heart could beat, it would break my chest..

Bam had grown older. He must be 29 now. Older than him, which is odd, becuase he was use to being the older one. The wiser one.
Now he was the dead one.

He was 27 when he died, and he's going to be 27 forever. He whimpers in his sleep, the way he noticed Jussi did when they shared a silk lined coffin together his first night dead. Now he was walking the streets, spying on a man who probably didn't even remember him. He imagined him tasting of buttermilk. He wonders what it would be like. To taste him. He can try to imagine the simple things ( things that end ). But he wouldn't be able to hit it dead on.
But, he could do it. He was made to do it, after all. Because he died pretty. He died becuase he was pretty. And he was going to be #ing pretty until he was a pile of dust and ash.






It starts as an itch on his palms. Strange, for it to begin there of all places. One would think his gums would itch or his teeth would hurt, the way they do before the fangs descend. Perhaps there would be a dull ache in the center of his chest where the heart sits, silent and still. Maybe his dick would just stand up and point due North. But no, it`s in his palms, and it`s always been that way. When he is called his hands begin to sweat, then they itch, finally they turn an angry red and the skin just peels away. Invariably it makes him wonder if his demon resides somehow in his hands.

The drive to his house is just long enough to ponder upon his stupidity. Why did he keep going back? It wasn't love. It was noting but pain and blood. Greys and whites. Colourless sex.
He pulls onto the interstate and wonders why the false lights on this side of town always seem to sputter like dying stars. Neon signs with letters missing ` OTEL! VA NCIES!` By some peculiar design, the exclamation points always work.

When he finds the correct one, he will loosen the grip on the leather steering wheel and wonder for the millionth time how his hands always know exactly where to go.

Pulls into the darkened lot, the wonder gone with the slam of a door. Turns the key in the lock and steps into the dimly lit room. Flips off the lamp, strips out of his clothes.
Flicks on the ceiling fan, listens to the motor sputter and start, the whirp whirp twisting the stale air inside the room. Half a dozen cigarettes half smoked on the bedside table. Blue smoke sucked toward the whir of fan, disincarnate ghosts spinning in the pitch.

And he can shed humanity at the door like snakeskin. Layers and layers of too many skins finally, but the man in the bed only wants one. Wants to peel away the one closest to the bone, closest to the pit inside; wants to tear it back and let the juices flow from the cracks. Tear it back and swallow it whole, lick the dribbles of juice from his chin, and choke on the smallest of seeds.

Sheets cool and wrinkled, blanket of red, rough wool. Naked skin beneath them crafted from hail and cotton. Smooth, chilled flesh of cheek and thigh and chest to quiet angry palms. Kisses with eyes pressed shut and mouth wide open. Here, taste it, taste me from the inside.

Drink here and live forever.

The demon is in every cell, isn`t it? It must be, to keep the corpse walking. To keep it unchanged, unmarred and beautiful despite the passage of so much time. It animates blood, muscles and sinew; it sits, eternal and merciless in his every pore. The demon regenerates him, it animates him, but it cannot create. It cannot make him into something which was not present before. Some little seed of anger and rage which had always been thus. Had always been his.

Snapping bite to lower lip, draw First Bloode.

Grab for a length of hair that is no longer there, a sable braid, a chestnut tail, and growl at its lack. Grab a fistful of short brown locks instead, and pull...pull the head back and drink the absence of the past.

It`s just blood. Familiar blood, sweet and cool and thick as maple syrup, but just blood. It has no inherent meaning, it changes nothing. It isn`t sacrament. Oh he wishes it was, wishes it was ritual and holy and full of ancient intent. Wishes the sacrifice would alter some grand design. Wishes it would soothe his soul and his heart. But all that is soothed here is the Hunger and the burn in his hands. And even that lasts only a moon.

Still, if he breathes deep and swallows fast, he can almost catch it. Almost smell sunshowers and fire on the man beneath him, because Ville has had only half as much time to acquire the scent of the dead.

He will remember this, much later. He will forget the name of this motel, and the scratch of dirty coverlets on his back, and the sound of the headboard banging against the wall. But some night, when he conjures the image of fair hair and gray eyes, if he holds his breath and sinks his fangs into his own tongue, he will smell blue flames and Communion Wafers.

He runs from the hotel, drives as far away as he can. He abandons his car by the motel he is staying at and goes off walking. Clearning his mind. Erasing away Jussi.
He will keep walking. Keep waiting for the next evening when his palms itch to distraction. Keep the bit of crimson covered broken glass in his pocket until then.
He is running a hand through his hair, a smoke dangling from his lips and his other pale fingers clutching the neck of a brown beer bottle.
He is thrown to the ground as he suddenly bumps into a hard body, too far into the shadowns to recognize his face.







We all come into this world in the same way. Naked. Covered in blood. Screaming.

No one really remembers birth. Which is good, he supposes, because who wants to remember that? The cold, the violence. The feeling of alone-ness chewing up your cells.
But after, if we are blessed, we aren't alone anymore. After, there are warm blankets and the steady thrumming of a heart. Milk and lullabies. The safety of being kept, the surety of being held.
He dreamt of Bam. All the memories he previously had of him. The concerts he'd attending with him, including his own (seeing him backstadge, or in the crowd, singing along.). The nights living he spent wishing he could kiss him, just once. Just to know what it was like. How good it would feel to run his lips over his, the feel of his hands.

The man he now looked up at. His eyes closed for a moment. Could it be?
Bammie, was here. Infront of him. He stands, mesmorized by the shades of grey that surround him. They seemed to glow more than others. He adored the way he shined.
As if he was a moon, all on his own. Countless night's Ville had spent under the moonlight, contemplating staking himself. Knowing he could never love him like this. He might have had a slim chance when he was living, but now. Nothing.

Bam doesn't speak. His words are caught in his throat. His heartbeat is racing a mile a minute. It was Ville. But.. it wasn't. He looked different. He looked.. paler than normal. He looked sad.
A clentched fist, and a few fought back tears later, Bam looked deep into his eyes.
"V-Ville..?"
His voice came out harsh, and almost un-audible.
Ville was entranced by the more grown up version of Bam. His eyes were wiser. He was more mature. Bams eyes drifted closed, he shook his head slightly. A light pink is in his cheeks, almost like he was blushing.

Ville stood up, almost standing close enough to touch him. He smelt of lonliness. Something Ville knew too well. When he thought of him, closed his eyes, he was no longer reminded he was dead. He made him feel alive. He cannot blush. He bears none of the imperfections, and wears none of the colors of man. But he can hollar and he can scream and he can love.
And he can close his eyes. Just like Bam.

He often felt like a monster without insight into the desperations of men who too quickly grow old.
Bam grew old too fast. There was lines under his eyes that Ville would never know of personally, but it made his stomach churn all the same.
"Bammie." Ville smilea slightly, he could hear his heartbeat. It was rapid. Fast.
"I-I thought.."
His eyes were begining to grow watery, his hands shaking and his mouth forming a frown.
Ville stepped more closer to him, his own body would shake if he would let it. He felt the heat on Bams body radiating towards his own.
He felt colder than normal now, and he didn't mind.. becuase Bam was warming him.
His shakey hand was moving, reaching up to his Villes face. The heat coming off him in waves, like sunlight that Ville could never touch. But Bams heat was touching him.
And soon enough Bams hand was on his neck.. still shaking, still giving off heat. Ville sucks in air, savoring the moment.The glorious touch of Bam.
He would definatly give up sunlight for this, if he had it.

Bam placed a hand on his neck, and instantly felt his body temperature go down a few shades. Ville looked like he hadn't eaten in years, slept in weeks, and smiled in a lifetime.
He hadn't seen Ville in years. Not after he disappeared after that show. It had been so long, and there was so many thing he should tell him, but he couldn't. Not now at least. He needed to bask in this moment.
"I.. can't believe you're here.."
Ville pushed his neck towards Bam's hand, smelling the cologne on him.
"I.. thought you were dead."
Ville looked up, and for the first time spoke to him.
"I am."

Blood Lust.Part 1

When he lies his body down in early morning to fall into a deep sleep, to get away from the blinding light, he dreams. He dreams in color. A mix of reds and beige, blurs of yellow and greens. Sometimes he dreams sepia dreams, but those are few and in between. Splatters of colours, he dreams of killing. He dreams of sex.

When he awakes the colours fade. Greys all mix together, and the juxtaposition is well noticed. He feeds off redless blood, it is cold and finite. He thinks of love and the colours is may bring. But, who would want such a un-desirable creature? In this stone building he is just a corpse under the artificial lights.

When it gets too much, he closes his eyes. He thinks of other things. How this place smells of bitter despair, and he can taste it on his tounge. He breathes it in on his tounge.
Does he breathe? He doesn't remember. All he knows is this place isn't home.
He pushes himself so far into dreams that when reality finally hits him hard like a brick stick, he can feel the misery residing in the back of his throat.

Sometimes when he awoke he found a familiar body lingering above him. Hitting him, over and over. He would stay still. Silent. It was a ritual for this man to do this to him. Nothing would stop him. When he finally left he would look down on himself, a blur of blood and bruise. He learned over the years the different shades of grey that certain things were. Blood, tears, cuts, and hate.

He was the one who had created him, if you could use the word 'create' for such a disaster. It was late, after a show in Helsinki and they had known each other for a few years before that. Their bands were friends. He had spent most of his living years singing to a crowd that didn't know the real him. He prayed for death daily. Begged for something, anything to take him out of this cold world.

It was a vampire who had heard his call. His name was Jussi.

He was almost prone to scream and kick, as Jussi cut deep into his neck. Telling him it only hurts for a few moments. The moments you die. When your hearts slows, and your breathing comes in ragged sighs
He remembered Jussi's breath smelled of expensive bourbon and misplaced lust.
His hands were cold, too cold.
They wrapped around him, cradleing him in his last moments of life.
"You have no need to be afraid.. soon we will be together for eternity."
Tears welled up in his dying eyes. Fear was placed on his face, and a smile on the other man's.
Just as he was taking his last breaths he felt the warm liquid of red infinite touch his lips. He tried pushing his mouth to the side. He didn't want his.

If this is what dyiing is, take me back.

Soon he felt the need rise in him to drink, and before he could reach ecstacy, the wrist was pulled away from him and he suddenly felt weightless. He rose, looking at his now transparent skin and the blue veins almost popped.

That was years ago, and he had long since forgotten what it felt like to bathe in sunlight. What colours looked like in a kiss shared between two lovers. What it felt like to be loved in colour.

Whenever her lips met yours, you felt the world fall away around you. It was you and her; her and you, and you were numb to everything but her cold fingertips. You always moved your frail arms to her slender waist. You heard nothing but her soft breathing, felt nothing but her perfect body, smelt nothing but the autumn’s breeze in her hair long.
You thought nothing but her name, her sweet and beautiful name. Her warm tongue was in your mouth, tracing shapes and patterns in your mouth, and she tasted like the familiar autumn’s breeze too, and she thought you tasted like cinnamon.
You always felt inadequate next to her. Your freckled skin next to a lucious pale; flame red hair mingled with dark black, and sometimes it seemed you were one person, when she was inside you, moving slowly, and you were inside her, moving much faster, because that's how she liked it. And afterwards, she would fall against you, breathing heavily, and she would kiss your pale neck and tell how she loved you, and how she would always love you, and you always said it back because you never had a fear of what she might respond with, of what that might mean to her. To love someone is one thing - to be in love with this person is another…
And you would lie there for a while, occasional kisses between you, sometimes short, other times passionate, but always loving, and meaningful. You always fell asleep in her arms.
You never thought you could end; the two of you would be together forever! And why should you have ever thought anything different…? She told you all the time how she would love you forever and now it seems that this isn’t the case any longer…You’re not sure when you started to change, when the words of compassion stopped and the fleeting but sensual touching ceased…but they did.
As her eyes avoided yours, she sighed deeply and you heard that she was sorry, and she told you that she loved you with her hand cupping your cheek. You put your own hand over hers and she blinked and the tears fell quickly but tumbled slowly down her cheeks, to wash away what you had done to her life, to wash away your time together and her feelings for you, whatever they may have been. She washed all of it away. And she looked at you like no one else ever did. Like you were special. Like you were worth something.
Like she cared about you.
Did she? Did you?
She forgot to tell you you tasted like sweet sweet honey.

If ever you think of me out of the blue, just remember it's all the kisses I've blown in the air finally catching up with you!


[edit on 8-4-2005 by angeleyes101]