A few days ago I had an image of myself, with my feet curled under me, reading, in your bed. And I thought to myself that if I was there, I could be happy. I thought that if I was allowed to curl up my feet and read and laugh with you, with one of your pencils in my hair and my glasses perched on my nose and the smell of you seeping into my skin, I'd be content.
I don't know if that's true. These moments rarely hold as much happiness as they promise. I might feel trapped by the sheets wrapping around my legs, I might kick them off. I don't really know what you smell like, I no longer remember, I don't know if it would seep into my skin.
I know the cure for unhappiness is happiness, that there is no other. And I know you can't give that to me. But I still wonder about your sheets snaking about my limbs.
1 comment:
oh my. why you are very good!
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