when someone blushes, doesn’t that mean “yes”?
— le petit prince (via moonandmoon) (via paris, nymph)
Memoir-ial day.
Sometimes I fall asleep and dream of the way your eyelashes fan like feathers and how you wish on them when you think I’m not looking but I am.
I wander the streets much like a cat born of the gutters, or a drunken ex-lover who gives the cabbie your address, remembering that you no longer want to pick up her dry-cleaning only after the taillights round the bend.
We fit like puzzle pieces, you said so yourself that time you were feeling blue. Except maybe you are the corner of the sky and I am lost in the sea. “Flighty”, your mother calls it before pursing her lips in the other room while you grab our coats and head for the door. I could hear her love for you over the hum of the tv.
*~*~*~*~*
to be continued, i suppose
