October 2009
2 posts
drunk
Don’t even care. Walking home, or more accurately walking to the bus that will take me home, I am thinking of you. I shouldn’t. I know I shouldn’t. But I am. An you know what, I want to fuck you. Bad enough that I keep catching myself about to say it out loud. Scream it maybe. Into the night air. Astounding the passersby and the bus driver on this sparse and sleepy Saturday...
we seem very happy
me: aw :)
I'd like to bake you some cookies
and eat them with you
him: Mmmmmm
Sigh
I could go for sipping wine
listening to Leonard Cohen on the record player
letting the wind do its thing outside.
me: mhmm
I just had a vignette spring to mind
the two of us in coats and scarves
in the near dark
him: :)
me: walking a long a tree lined street with the wind lazily tossing the leaves about along with our hair and scarves
and we are laughing
and you have a big smile
and my head is thrown back in a laugh
and I am holding on to your arm
looking up at the sky
we seem very happy