miércoles, enero 05, 2011

Dr. Manhattan knows best.

The soft lips of an unknown man,
time stops and stares.
“Your smell…” he starts to say but doesn’t end the sentence.
My mind wanders, so many others have said things about it;
That scent that lives on my neck, the one that stays on pillows.

I feel sad.
I feel alone.
I feel like nobody will ever know how to love me.
Here is an unknown man, who desires me,
and yet all I see are possible ways of hurting.

In the air there is that unfinished sentence:
“Your smell…”
and I don’t care for the conclusion. 
I don’t need it.
I have had it many times before and it makes no difference.

It ends with you in tears.

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