thebeautifultruth
Monday, September 7, 2009
12:18 AM
i want to know who you really are,
letting my imagination
paint a picture of who I think you are.
a portrait of you and i,
our life where you were a part of mine,
together under the starry night sky.
i wonder if you remember me,
that girl sitting under the apple tree.
i remembered every single little detail about you,
but do you?
i speak of you.
when i sit alone, before i sleep, after i wake.
i think of you.
i doubt i'll see you again,
but the memory of you will always remain,
in my mind where i know,
i will never lose you as my imaginary beau.
your jet black hair,
your dark dangerous black eyes,
your high cheekbones,
you perfectly shaped lips.
i tell myself, life's unfair.
to let us meet,
and tear us apart,
leaving a new chapter of our lives incomplete.
now all i have is a memory,
of that stranger
who came with the zephyr.
a stranger in my life,
that i want to know.
to see him again,
to hear him speak,
to feel the warmth of his hands,
to smell the scent of his cologne,
to taste those sweet lips.
a stranger that i love.
letting my imagination
paint a picture of who I think you are.
a portrait of you and i,
our life where you were a part of mine,
together under the starry night sky.
i wonder if you remember me,
that girl sitting under the apple tree.
i remembered every single little detail about you,
but do you?
i speak of you.
when i sit alone, before i sleep, after i wake.
i think of you.
i doubt i'll see you again,
but the memory of you will always remain,
in my mind where i know,
i will never lose you as my imaginary beau.
your jet black hair,
your dark dangerous black eyes,
your high cheekbones,
you perfectly shaped lips.
i tell myself, life's unfair.
to let us meet,
and tear us apart,
leaving a new chapter of our lives incomplete.
now all i have is a memory,
of that stranger
who came with the zephyr.
a stranger in my life,
that i want to know.
to see him again,
to hear him speak,
to feel the warmth of his hands,
to smell the scent of his cologne,
to taste those sweet lips.
a stranger that i love.
once there was me
I'm Janice, sixteen, but really, I'm three. I live in my own fantasy of endless imagination. I like the smell of new books and the wonders a camera can do. I laugh way too much.
And this, is my life.
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