'can we get any closer' stumbles from your mouth and we are quiet, cold, close on a twin size mattress. we try and you are right; it's not possible. your blinds are strung open and dull moonlight streams in, pooling gently on your pillowcase and the tops of the brown fluff on your head. your hair is growing out, slowly but surely, and spikes out at the edges. mine, cloud-like, floats at it's own pace - uncontrollable. we agree that the scene outside resembles something van gogh would enjoy, and that you will paint it when you so happen to remember it. the streetlamp outside shines out, loud and yellow, better and brighter in twilight. my pillowcase and yours, white, and grey, are twin flames, side by side. we wind our limbs around each other and find ourselves staring again. blue on brown in fuzzy vision, studying the curves and bends of our eyes. you have your mothers eyes, and your father's color.
im hiding under your blanket out of a shy habit and i realistically know i can't stay here forever but oh god i want to, all i want to do is stay, and i don't want to have to leave and make you ask me to come back and go through the difficulty of being apart for more than three minutes and if i could, i'd still the darkened sky and quiet the time and lay there until the lonely mattress on your floor became my deathbed.
//that is not the case. i duck my head to rest on you and feel you curl your arm around me. with a bittersweet smile i am drifting off, begging myself to stay conscious to feel the slow rocking back and forth of your body as you breathe, but soon i drift to black. this is over, but not entirely, as when i see you next, this will begin again.
