mydreamrewrite
12/04/06, 12:48 PM
I have arrived on campus to herds of bustling brunettes and bubbling blondes. The boys that open for them are freshly cut and clothed, straight and firm (although I'd still call them 'slouchers'); but then I remind myself: we're only young once.
My princess has proclaimed her love for me... "and I hope, your majesty, that you like your position. I will stare off through this darkness to find us a kingdom. Just kiss me before I go (Connelly, 2001).
Through the praise and the purity I'm still rather lonely and miserable. Maniacally miserable, maybe... This room is stifling, steaming, stagnant and I'm torn, de-stapled and bruised. But she told me she loved me and that kills me in the most beautiful and hopelessly romantic way possible. And I remind myself, we're only young once.
She wants to come for the weekend, and I think she will, but it makes me feel like a leper begging for some attention. I know that's not accurate, but it's how I feel. And I'll persuade her that I don't need her, but she'll see through me and she'll come and tend to my wounds, never quite healing them, but that's not her fault - because I think that some wounds take more than love to heal. More than kisses and words and love and new shoes. More than new clothes and cologne and her perfume.
But hey, we're only young once, and we'll work through these injuries, these cuts and these staplegunned scars and this distance and we'll live and love and lay together in this kingdom I call 'my heart surrounded by blood and guts, brain cells and strands of insecurity zigzagging around, cement walls, warehouse dormitory, greener pastures, even greener pastures, and places so green and beautiful they lay with you whenever you lay with your girl and then leaves with her memory and her scent.
My princess has proclaimed her love for me... "and I hope, your majesty, that you like your position. I will stare off through this darkness to find us a kingdom. Just kiss me before I go (Connelly, 2001).
Through the praise and the purity I'm still rather lonely and miserable. Maniacally miserable, maybe... This room is stifling, steaming, stagnant and I'm torn, de-stapled and bruised. But she told me she loved me and that kills me in the most beautiful and hopelessly romantic way possible. And I remind myself, we're only young once.
She wants to come for the weekend, and I think she will, but it makes me feel like a leper begging for some attention. I know that's not accurate, but it's how I feel. And I'll persuade her that I don't need her, but she'll see through me and she'll come and tend to my wounds, never quite healing them, but that's not her fault - because I think that some wounds take more than love to heal. More than kisses and words and love and new shoes. More than new clothes and cologne and her perfume.
But hey, we're only young once, and we'll work through these injuries, these cuts and these staplegunned scars and this distance and we'll live and love and lay together in this kingdom I call 'my heart surrounded by blood and guts, brain cells and strands of insecurity zigzagging around, cement walls, warehouse dormitory, greener pastures, even greener pastures, and places so green and beautiful they lay with you whenever you lay with your girl and then leaves with her memory and her scent.