Wednesday, October 16, 2013
Untitled
I've imagined an infinite amount of possibilities where I have seen you, spoke to you, told you things I wouldn't tell anyone else, where you have told me things that you wouldnt tell anyone else. But none of these possibilities and hypothetical scenarios don't mean anything, because they aren't happening. The pictures in my head cannot be more real than actually seeing you, hearing you, smelling you and touching the smooth skin of your arm. It cannot be more real than staring you in the face, running my fingers through your hair and explaining to you how I fell in love with you and why I love you.
Labels:
fiction,
lit,
literature,
love,
prose
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