"I love it when you talk," he said.
And just like that, he got me as he always did. I gave him a curious look and shrugged unknowingly.
"I do. I really do. For all my life, what I have known is that we borrow words to vent out our feelings - our thoughts - stirring them into something coherent so that everyone might understand what we're feeling, but you... you are so different, unprecedented rather. You just own these words, you own them all like what you do with everything. And it's killing me from the inside, do you even know that? it's killing me so gently, that I can't keep it to myself."
I shook my head in disbelief.
"You really do have a way with words," he said it with that nonchalant smile of his and for once, I was at a loss for words. Words don't seem to be necessary with him, but they are all I have.
"Well, you do have a way with my heart."
YOU ARE READING
Paper & Ink |#Wattys2016|
Poetry"I am the black on white; the ink on paper." A collection of my nightly thoughts and daydreams. Highest rank: #5 in Poetry. Please enjoy reading and find a friend in one of my works. :)
