the little pressures of life are getting to me and thought i try not to let it show, you just know. you know. you could turn a blind eye and sometimes i wish you would, but you don’t.
no, you soak up my pain instead and pour it out in vials of tears silently falling from your eyes.
last night it was me that was hurting, but it was you that was crying.
and without you i’d be lost, i think, my love.
it is your voice that lulls me to sleep, your hands that fleetingly touch the inside of my thighs as we sit there on the train: me reading the paper with you by my side, your heart in my hands.
and your tears, silent, unheard, unrehearsed wash over me in a lapping wave of memory, white foam of pain caressing the soft golden sands of dreams.
deja vu haunts me.
this has once already happened.