Sometime I find that you pull at my heart strings. You move me. As a puppet or not, I couldn't tell you. But you move me. Sometimes to say things that aren't quite true. Sometimes to do stupid things. It's amazing what one will do when properly motivated for it. Compelled, may be a better word for how it feels. But you pull. You tug. Sometimes you paw. With a grin or tears in your eyes, you can't keep your fingers from them.
And I dare say that I couldn't stand it if I couldn't feel that touch.
I'm crying right now. For all sorts of reasons. Reminded of what we had, were going to have. The sounds of songs, listed with that tug. I couldn't help but listen. And from my lips you drew...
It comes and goes. The sensations. I have to shut them back off before heading back to CQ.
I keep wanting words from you. Those we always talk about but never get around to. Stories. Scripts. Ideas. Projects. I was drawing a little. Just a little. I can't hardly keep my mind straight enough lately to do more. Thanks, love. If I didn't have you on my mind I could likely concentrate, but then again - would I have the drive of images if you weren't on my mind so damn much? Adding detail to older thoughts, and skulls in dresses. Doodles. Shapes, eyes. Faces that aren't faces.
Masks.
I find it hard to breathe sometimes as time has drawn on. My mind fluctuates, my heart beat flutters - or something less worrisome to the same imagery. My breathing stalls. And there you are.
I hold onto too many words for you. Is it time for a flood?
[maybe]
Your words out the mouths of others. Spilling like a waterfall. The rainbow of the refraction of syllables stringing. Singing. How the evocative the whisper. How endearing the pout, the whimper. Is there even really anything there, or is it that everything is there. So much I can't see what I need to? Sometimes when I listen to music, I hear you singing, and I look around to see if you aren't dancing. But you aren't there.
So I'm just back to you reading to me. It's still your lips that move when I read.
<sigh>
[poetry in agony as it spills from finger tips]
And I dare say that I couldn't stand it if I couldn't feel that touch.
I'm crying right now. For all sorts of reasons. Reminded of what we had, were going to have. The sounds of songs, listed with that tug. I couldn't help but listen. And from my lips you drew...
It comes and goes. The sensations. I have to shut them back off before heading back to CQ.
I keep wanting words from you. Those we always talk about but never get around to. Stories. Scripts. Ideas. Projects. I was drawing a little. Just a little. I can't hardly keep my mind straight enough lately to do more. Thanks, love. If I didn't have you on my mind I could likely concentrate, but then again - would I have the drive of images if you weren't on my mind so damn much? Adding detail to older thoughts, and skulls in dresses. Doodles. Shapes, eyes. Faces that aren't faces.
Masks.
I find it hard to breathe sometimes as time has drawn on. My mind fluctuates, my heart beat flutters - or something less worrisome to the same imagery. My breathing stalls. And there you are.
I hold onto too many words for you. Is it time for a flood?
[maybe]
Your words out the mouths of others. Spilling like a waterfall. The rainbow of the refraction of syllables stringing. Singing. How the evocative the whisper. How endearing the pout, the whimper. Is there even really anything there, or is it that everything is there. So much I can't see what I need to? Sometimes when I listen to music, I hear you singing, and I look around to see if you aren't dancing. But you aren't there.
So I'm just back to you reading to me. It's still your lips that move when I read.
<sigh>
[poetry in agony as it spills from finger tips]
stem:
Only sometimes?