Riptide

Maybe I met him somewhere, somewhere quieter then waves and less tempting as drowning.
Maybe our eye's met, like the passing road and I'd look behind me beckoning our eye's to collide again.
And maybe we never meet at all.

My grandma used to call fate a house of cards, and we were the powerless factors of time.

Quite possibly Parker Richards changed me without my knowing, he reminded me of the existence of the moon and stars tubing in darkness, he reminded me of the patience of dark clouds and how no matter what I see I must remember the light waiting to make it's appearance behind them.

And he reminded me of how I hate and loved how he speaked, soft and vile like an all knowing asshole.

Most of all I liked how the thought of him never left, and a part of me I wouldn't admit is hoping he's up at night with the thought of me refusing to let him sleep.