2/7/16 12:00:58
Waiting. I always feel like I’m waiting for her To write. To call. To acknowledge my existence. That grey caption bubble (iMessage indication: Typing). Always a few hour spaces Like gaps between classes. But never seeming to be a Primary thought. Not to say I’m important But she seems to be my first and last. The distance between us is Actualized by the Continents connected By wireless signals But seemingly lost Amidst the crossed wires above. I may seemingly regret Attempting another love. For the feelings are nonexistent now Nor were they there before. Infatuated with the colors Of her eyes and the way Her hands fit in mine. This is all new to me, But my caring more may end So that I may regain my mental capacity. But I got these new shoes so My balance is steady still No fear of falling soon. I called in the crew To break down pieces Of my wall for you. But I’m beginning to regret The project altogether.
