You're so patient, and I knew that from the moment I first met you. A musty bus on a rainy day and it was loud but you were quiet behind me, though I didn't see you at first. Indigo hat, indigo eyes, iPod on, distant, and I knew right then who you were, but I didn't know who you were. I watched the undulating landscape fade into the mist all the way through the ride into nowhere. When we got there, the sky was indigo and I felt strangely convalescent, like jumping from a burning building into the snow. You didn't notice me and I was forward like I always am and I guess you noticed me after awhile, but I didn't notice. It was sunny and you gave shy glances and I wrote a poem about you at night, in the cold and in the damp dark and silence. I heard a song of an empty room and realized that you were not who I thought you were and I wanted to know who you were, though at the time I didn't know what to do with you. You were patient, like you always were, and I listened to the lyrics and let you disassemble my facade. Your house was cold and you smiled silly, and at first you drove the jeep. I like remembering you drive the jeep. You drove slow and your eyes were blue and I'll never forget the first time you held me like you meant it. Your song is my favorite song and those lyrics are mine. I write you poems, some are good and some are bad, but you read them all. Pay attention, because I mean every word I say. |
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I like this thing I am, Come on I'll kill you.
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