hopelessly lovedrunk.
The thing is.. I don’t just wear my heart on my sleeve. I wear it on my lips when I sometimes speak the best and worst of how I feel without thinking. You can feel it in my hands, in the warmth of the spaces between my fingers when I want to hold your hand. I’ll have the color of it in the blush…
Eventually, she’ll become immune to your apologies, even if they’re satiated with sincerity. Because one could only stomach so much disappointment from high hopes that come plummeting down before the disappointment becomes expectation. And your apologies will eventually transform into words that are said only in attempts to make things right. Eventually, I’m sorry won’t be good enough anymore because you wore out the meaning and wore her out of believing them.
I think of you in the in-between spaces, in the pause before the next heartbeat, in the clench of my chest before I exhale, in the swell of courage before I say hello. And perhaps, one day our lives will occupy one space, touched shoulders, clasped hands, shared secrets.
