Between you and I.
There are too many words. Exchanged, unsaid. And kept.
Too many feelings unnamed, unknown. And known.
Too many moments. Unnoticed. Enshrined.
And some anticipated with unsung angst.
This may flare in darb colors of shock,
But I love you in the outskirts of a cheerless furrow,
Of skewered stories and every other shaped facets there is.
I love you in a scourging hush
And in a pediment of brazenfaced confessions.
I love you. So much that,
You scare me like a bane of incurables.
Not just there. Not just here. Not just anywhere.
Or by anything. Not just.
But you don't know.
Oh, you haven't a single clue.
That just about kills me,
That you haven't a single clue.
Current State: Faints 
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i don’t have to explain myself here. i guess i had an overdose of thinking about Haruki Murakami’s sweeping words that sing of love.
mad love. imagined love. impossible love. forgotten love. forgiven love. cureless love. unrequited love.
i hate it. i hate this. but i don’t hate you for making me feel this way.
*scoots and hides herself forever*
Posted by coriander at October 27, 2007, 5:05 pm