Monday, February 1, 2010

Enigma, our love.

I could hop in the car and be there in four days. Three, if I drove fast. Trees, leaves down, trampled and crinkly and crispy, beneath our feet. Cool steam rising from the lakes in the morning. Our laughs echoing, to us.
If I love you this much, why do I resist? In spite of all the damage I've done, we could have that again. If I hopped in the car.
Responsibility fades my resolve. But not my love. Obviously.
I love what I'm not near, I pine for what is not in my fingertips. I covet what I can't see. I gloss over the imperfections, when they're not in my line of sight. I desire you most when you're not touchable.

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