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.
do you think we met at the wrong—
‘it’s getting late’, he says, holds up his illuminated cell phone screen with the time flashed to her. almost midnight. they used to stay up later than this, way much more: laying side by side on the roof of the car, counting stars, talkingtalkingtalking; comfortable silence. a routine. but now he is already sitting up and slipping his shoes back on. she pulls herself up and hair cascading all over the place, crinkles her nose and tries to blow it clear from her visage. a small, mellifluous chuckle resonates in the empty air as he taps the tip of her nose sending electrolytes blooming all throughout her veins. ribcage expands, flowers sprouting and encircling the bones, she exhales: i love you.
do you think we—
he smiles an almost frown for the somber night. he nods; he knows. but he wouldn’t say it back this time, perhaps not ever from then on.
‘you know i do too’ is what he replaces the three letters with and she feels the flowers inside of her wilting, petals withered helovesmehelovesmenotheloves—
the love they have isn’t enough.
do you think—
we met at the wrong time, she finally says and almost chokes on the whimpers threatening to climb out of her throat. he sighs and hops off of the roof, ready to turn the car into ignition; offers to drive her home so she nods in return.
(maybe we’ll meet again)
she suffocates again. sitting beside the boy she loves with all her heart but he wouldn’t save her. she doesn’t know how to swim.
(maybe we’ll be in love with each other then)
(maybe one day our love is enough)
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.
do you think we met at the wrong—
‘it’s getting late’, he says, holds up his illuminated cell phone screen with the time flashed to her. almost midnight. they used to stay up later than this, way much more: laying side by side on the roof of the car, counting stars, talkingtalkingtalking; comfortable silence. a routine. but now he is already sitting up and slipping his shoes back on. she pulls herself up and hair cascading all over the place, crinkles her nose and tries to blow it clear from her visage. a small, mellifluous chuckle resonates in the empty air as he taps the tip of her nose sending electrolytes blooming all throughout her veins. ribcage expands, flowers sprouting and encircling the bones, she exhales: i love you.
do you think we—
he smiles an almost frown for the somber night. he nods; he knows. but he wouldn’t say it back this time, perhaps not ever from then on.
‘you know i do too’ is what he replaces the three letters with and she feels the flowers inside of her wilting, petals withered helovesmehelovesmenotheloves—
the love they have isn’t enough.
do you think—
we met at the wrong time, she finally says and almost chokes on the whimpers threatening to climb out of her throat. he sighs and hops off of the roof, ready to turn the car into ignition; offers to drive her home so she nods in return.
(maybe we’ll meet again)
she suffocates again. sitting beside the boy she loves with all her heart but he wouldn’t save her. she doesn’t know how to swim.
(maybe we’ll be in love with each other then)
(maybe one day our love is enough)
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