jayarrarr:

I wonder if your fingers
Will ever trace
My scars
Feel the edges pulse
As I do.

I wonder if your fingers
Will ever interlace
My ribs
Read what’s written there
As I do.

I wonder if your fingers
Will ever face
My light
Soft at dawn’s fading
As we do.

jayarrarr:

I wrote a story once, but it isn’t finished yet. It’s a short story, probably; though it might be longer. There’s no way to know, really, until I feel it’s finished. And it isn’t finished yet.

It’s the story of how I want to fall in love with your thoughts — how I want to watch them flick and flitter through your mind, how I want to watch how you pick particular ones to focus on, how I want to imagine why you choose the light you do.

And how I want to fall in love with your voice — how I want it to echo in the dark, how I want it to slip in the slightest recesses of my soul and whisper there, how I want to feel its humidity hitting just behind my ear.

And how I want to fall in love with your dreams — how I want to see myself inside them, how I want to see laughs and smiles and future things, how I want to share the songs that later sings.

And how I want to fall in love with your words — how I want to curl myself between them, how I want to wind my way between their letters and pause between the spaces, how I want to inhale them and hold my breath as long as possible until they become my last bit of life.

In short, it’s the story of how I want to fall in love with you — although I haven’t. Yet.