May 11, 2013 § 10 Comments
You looked so foolish that day, sitting in Wesley’s coffee shop, cigarette draped across your lips… paint brush teetering between your fingers—dead to the world, as if human interaction had betrayed you.
I knew you were a playboy, an artist— a muse birthed in my heart waiting to explode.
I knew in that stupid moment— you would be mine, that you would possess my body— owning my brain forever.
The logic in me fought against a mad uninhibited hunger, as I brainlessly walked toward the glass and stared into your vagabond eyes.
The cigarette fell out of your mouth— i wanted to laugh, but there was no human tone left on my tongue.
“I need you…” my lips phrased voicelessly as our souls skipped formal introductions and started their dance.
“Let’s ride“, you said.
Where’s the break?” I questioned.
“There’s nothing to escape…
we just ride”, you answered.
I thought you’d be my muse— a stroll in the park, a few jazz bands, late nights of dancing and too much wine.
Little did I know on that day you would possess in me a desire to create so fiercely my fingers could never be the same, whether you lived or died.
“You’re drunk, get out of the car“, I screamed.
“Let’s ride baby, I just wanna ride—“.
You never noticed the breaks.
You were born into a speed train—no steering wheel, no tracks, no break.
Sitting on my windowsill, listening to Landen Pigg’s ‘Coffee Shop’— cinnamon cigar half draped out of my untamed cinnamon-stained lips… I whisper,
“If I didn’t know you, I’d rather not know
If I couldn’t have you, I’d rather be alone“
I watch ashes fall like stars from the sky, before crawling into my perfect white bed, against perfect white walls, where our souls dance every night [still in my head].
“Why do you love me?“, your haunting voice demands.
As if this heart was made with breaks.
As if I had a choice.
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Tagged: author, books, cinnamon lips, Coffee, coffee shop, keep on dreaming, Landen Pigg, life goes on, love quote, love story, muse, muses, my muse, poems, Poetry, quotes, Reading, riding, short story, what to do when you have a broken heart, who is John Galt