im not angry at him in the least bit. his love was genuine and kind just like his heart and his eyes when he smiled at me. the words he spoke were the truth and his soul shone through the tip of his tongue. when he told me it was over it was in vain. distance was a strain and he didn’t want to do things he didn’t enjoy. he loved my eyes and he told me that every day. he said my smile was beautiful like my being and that he could not wait to plant his lips upon mine. we dreamed of our skin pressing one another’s and the warmth we would feel under the covers because even in the summer time Washington was chilly and he didn’t want my skin to have goosebumps if he were not the reason. but 2,927 miles apart is a strain and he did not want to do things he didn’t enjoy. his voice was gentle like his laugh unless it came from his belly and God was that my favorite. he liked that i was the only girl in his world who could make a laugh like that roar from his lungs and make his heart race simultaneously. he liked to stare into my eyes and search for something inside of me. no words were said but it was comfortable and it was happy and it was bliss. but fuck, 2,927 miles is a strain and he did not want to do things he didn’t enjoy. he wanted me to write him poems and express how i felt about his love, our laughter, and the connection that we shared and that i didn’t have to read it to him just yet. that i could wait until whenever i felt it was right. 7 poems later, he told me if the circumstances were different then maybe it could work out, but as for right now 2,927 miles is a strain. and he did not want to do things he didn’t enjoy.
i just wonder when he stopped enjoying me (via ewcutie)
