you are the ocean (i can hold so little of you)
you are the ocean (i can hold so little of you) do you think we met at the wrong time, is stuck beneath her throat, willing the words to come out but clenches her fists instead suddenly unsure if she really wants him to hear them. her fingers slowly travel upwards, daintily touching her parched throat—wants to cough the bile building up but is afraid the words she has damned herself to keep would escape. she is silent. tries to fixate her gaze onto the etched canvas above them instead of the boy, oh how his scent sent her nostrils flaring, spines tingling. ocean eyes, he looks at her with lips that are curved into what she knows is a forced smile. the color wasn’t one you could swim into, a pool of dark brown orbs staring into hers; the kind she knows she drowns into and claws her way back up, tries, can’t swim. she doesn’t really mind holding her breath (ten seconds, twenty, thirty), hold it, hold it, a masochist who is fond of suffocating. never bothered learning how to swim. ...
