we lay in bed like we do best, hopeless or hapless, we describe our lives like the movies. mostly because we have no feelings. except for each other.
and you look at me and tell me you Love holding me. i'm thinking to myself you know what i Love more,
waking up in the darkest part of night, she's a tempest when you fight to see without light, and i realize i haven't moved an inch and neither have you. i love how my body is weaning on to yours, and we're in a pool of our own sweat, stuck together with it, and i suddenly figure out that i haven't been angry once since we started this, our life, and how we keep up, the fights that both of us lose cause our time together shouldn't be misused, the smiles and the drives. the pasts we both stopped probing years ago, we choose to neglect the discomfort it (the past) led to. and i think we both believed that it warranted an axe that cut our dreams and beliefs into tiny pieces. we didn't recognize it, but we wouldn't take the blame either. and maybe we're nontraditional when it comes to progress, but we haven't needed it since childhood.