she has taken the moonlight in the window and made it hers. she wears it and it fits her... just... right. flows around her every curve and grazes her elbows and hips in ways i only dream about.

she has taken my bed and made it hers. the way my covers took to her so readily, willingly. she wormed her way into them, into the depths of them, leaving only the top of her head left exposed.

i wonder what its like to have such power. to be able to claim the night, the entire night, as yours. to make the moon caress you, to make the covers fight to protect you.

and i wonder who she is.

i dont need money... fortune or fame. with my girl ive got all the riches one man can claim.

im a sucker for expressive people, either by their faces or hands.

the thing is, people are a lot more expressive than they realize.

when the time comes, i wont tell her how she is like the sun or the stars or the ocean.

i will tell her i love her as much as i love fishsticks and mashed potatoes and peas as a dinner.

i will tell her i would wake up early in the morning every day for her.

i will tell her that she'll always be a distraction.

a good distraction.

thats not the east and she's not the sun. the sun burns eyes and helps in skin cancer and leaves every night.

change of subject:

my ankle hurts if i sit cross legged. so i dont sit cross legged.

and i wish it was earlier in the evening so i could get more sleep.

but its not so i wont and ill still remain happy about it all.

play that funky music white boy is something i regret not saying.

yeah, NOT saying.

and that is all.