By Gia, age 19, Florida
Sweet Designs Staff Intern
Sweet Designs Featured Writer
They used to be marked,
Leaked pen tips spill out what I couldn't say.
Your picture sits on my night table,
I watch the image,
Hope filled eyes and just two beings willed to give themselves,
Their whole selves to a stranger.
One part finds the courage to stand up,
Whisper to your soul where I am.
A little black cat scurries by,
Every single moment reminds us.
I want to apologize,
For something I didn't do,
But the words,
Repeated over and over by my imagination,
I wake up,
Smell your scent that hasn't been in my pillow
Then I can't remember
Your voice, the way your legs felt intertwined with mine.
Beg is not in my vocabulary,
To everyone else I should just write you off.
Maybe I am just naïve,
Even after all the lies and deception,
If you asked me to,
I would sleep next to you.
Thank you for letting me write my first line.
Love is where I am, a distant place to you.