Love is just a reaction to soft skin and the look in her eyes when she told me she'd follow me anywhere. Love is her hand reaching for me and I feel myself falling from grace. Falling from everything I know. She was there to pick me up and put the smile back on my face and set my confidence in motion. Love is the phone call she made from her sisters wedding to let me know she caught the bouquet. Love is me telling her it might not have been an accident.
Right now I'm only dreaming of becoming her winning lottery ticket, or the moment before she comes up for air. Her rescue. I heart the way her eyes still scream "childhood."
On a good night baby, I'm just a prize fighter... but some nights I speak slowly so I don't slur, and just maybe you won't suspect I'm hazy. My eyes push backward into my head looking for whatever thought that I might have left, all in hopes of finding the right words to say.
She saved me from becoming a (p)harm(aceutical)ful wreck.
Her granddaddy used to say that soul shine is better than sunshine, and for that we stay up until the sun comes up.
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We will forever be a community of writers asking you to fall in (love) or be taken (hostage.) We only want to make you smile, and encourage you to pick up the pen, or start using those fingers on your keyboard!
