|| Noun ||
He used to talk to me
On the phone, in school,
On trains, before bed.
He rubs my hands and warms them up,
While I stare at his furrowed brows,
Wondering if he knew
He warms me up from the inside out.
He carried me princess style,
Tells me the dark ain’t for a lady like me,
And beneath the umbrella of the night
Under no false pretences my heart felt a bump.
We now talk in long, encrypted stares,
Exchange little, tired, smiles.
Replies in one word sentence,
Watch the other glide pass saliently.
I look at him and I know,
He no longer smiles just for me;
I want the world to know:
He is now theirs to keep.
As I watched from below, you looked glorious, magnificent, confident. I was proud. But that sense of pride stemmed from some place dark — as though I tried to hide it but it came out. I smiled because you stood bravely; I teared because I knew that was the pivotal point when we are set to part ways.
Thank you. For letting me know you, before the rest of the world did.
” Sometimes I wonder if he never wished for me because he already had everything. ” – Dominic Riccitello
To read more of his writings: http://words.bydominic.com