the poem that is not a poem
05/02/2004 10:55 p.m.
do you have any regrets now? ... and do you still remember taking my hand in yours? I wonder what thoughts you were thinking taking such a risk. or I suppose you didn't think it risky, did you? cause why would I have minded? I didn't see it then, but I do now - how you played with me because you knew I loved you. and even now I don't so much mind, because part of that love can't be erased.

ah, but he knew all of that already, didn't he? or maybe he chooses not to remember. as I said, he hates all the movies we watched just us.

I want this to be the last line of poetry I ever write about him, but I don't know if I'm that strong:

"the stars fly apart and compose the song of your eyes"

I am currently Nostalgic