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This is not a song.
8/17/10 11:59 pmThis is not a song.
Our hands meet and fold together and we know -- we know. There is a song playing in my headphones, something old, something about falling in love (because the best songs are about falling in love) and the fringe of my scarf wraps around your fingers because you're looking down, too shy to meet my eyes.
Time is uncertain -- am I remembering your eyelashes fluttering, your teeth between your parted lips, or is this a memory, thinking of you in band class, your fingers straying over your guitar in a way that makes me think unpardonable things.
Have we grown old together, our hands permanently bound in strings, red and gold and white, or is this only the beginning of our story, lovers and countries still to come between us for years and years, but not forever. Not for always.
Your lips tickle my ears as you push aside the earpiece and whisper my name.
This is not a song, you say. This is --.
Our hands meet and fold together and we know -- we know. There is a song playing in my headphones, something old, something about falling in love (because the best songs are about falling in love) and the fringe of my scarf wraps around your fingers because you're looking down, too shy to meet my eyes.
Time is uncertain -- am I remembering your eyelashes fluttering, your teeth between your parted lips, or is this a memory, thinking of you in band class, your fingers straying over your guitar in a way that makes me think unpardonable things.
Have we grown old together, our hands permanently bound in strings, red and gold and white, or is this only the beginning of our story, lovers and countries still to come between us for years and years, but not forever. Not for always.
Your lips tickle my ears as you push aside the earpiece and whisper my name.
This is not a song, you say. This is --.
