His hands only linger on my waist because he isn't aware they are there.
His tired body breathes in and out as I lay awake, in his arms, watching
him dream. In a few minutes he'll wake up, but until then he is mine. He
looks so strong, so handsome, and I want to keep him like this forever,
silent and handsome. If he knew what I was thinking he'd never come back.
If he knew what I was dreaming, he'd alienate me for life. I know its only
physical, then why, why do I feel this way. Why do I wish for his hand to
grasp mine every morning, why do I long for a passionate kiss from him to
brush away my fears? Why, dear God, do I want to tell him things that I can
hardly admit to myself?
I look on the nightstand and see the empty bottles of beer. Wow we had a lot last night. I guess it helps me forget the way I feel and allows me to just submit to him. I want to make him happy. I want to believe I'm happy this way. I have to force myself to believe it. This is what I want, this is how it began and this is how it has to stay.
Then why, dear God, do I long for his touch. Not his body on mine, but the simple touch of a hand to my face, his fingers stroking my hair, why can't I have that part of him? Why is this all I get? I want him to kiss me in the park, or cuddle me when I'm sick, I want the roses, the notes, the smiles. But they aren't for me. He's never said it, but it's true. They aren't for me. I only get to have him if he wants to have me, and he only wants to have me on nights that he's not busy, on night's that he is lonely, on nights that he doesn't have anyone else. And I'm always here, with open arms, and most importantly to him, open legs. But that's not what I want. I want him to myself. I don't want to share him, even if he doesn't mind sharing me.
If he knew what I was thinking, he'd never come back. I'd rather lack his love but feel his touch, than lack him altogether. I don't think I'd make it if he disappeared, that's why I don't say anything, that's why I only listen. I'm so desperate for him that before he leaves I steal something of his from the nightstand. Some item that he disregarded the night before in his excitement. I take it and hold it close to me on the nights he isn't there. I breath in his scent if it is some sort of clothing, I caress the splintered wood of his slingshot, I snuggle the grey cap close to my heart, and I soak the gold-tipped staff with my tears, this is the closest I can get to him, and he doesn't even know it.
He is stirring now, and he'll be up any minute. I know not to speak when he awakens, I know he doesn't want to hear me beg. So when his eyes open, I let mine close. When he slips out of the bed and puts on his clothes, I beg God for him to kiss me before he leaves. Just a little peck on the cheek, something, anything to know he cares, even if its just a little bit. But he never does, and I know he never will.
A/N: A woman's feelings on Spotty. Review PLEASE!
I look on the nightstand and see the empty bottles of beer. Wow we had a lot last night. I guess it helps me forget the way I feel and allows me to just submit to him. I want to make him happy. I want to believe I'm happy this way. I have to force myself to believe it. This is what I want, this is how it began and this is how it has to stay.
Then why, dear God, do I long for his touch. Not his body on mine, but the simple touch of a hand to my face, his fingers stroking my hair, why can't I have that part of him? Why is this all I get? I want him to kiss me in the park, or cuddle me when I'm sick, I want the roses, the notes, the smiles. But they aren't for me. He's never said it, but it's true. They aren't for me. I only get to have him if he wants to have me, and he only wants to have me on nights that he's not busy, on night's that he is lonely, on nights that he doesn't have anyone else. And I'm always here, with open arms, and most importantly to him, open legs. But that's not what I want. I want him to myself. I don't want to share him, even if he doesn't mind sharing me.
If he knew what I was thinking, he'd never come back. I'd rather lack his love but feel his touch, than lack him altogether. I don't think I'd make it if he disappeared, that's why I don't say anything, that's why I only listen. I'm so desperate for him that before he leaves I steal something of his from the nightstand. Some item that he disregarded the night before in his excitement. I take it and hold it close to me on the nights he isn't there. I breath in his scent if it is some sort of clothing, I caress the splintered wood of his slingshot, I snuggle the grey cap close to my heart, and I soak the gold-tipped staff with my tears, this is the closest I can get to him, and he doesn't even know it.
He is stirring now, and he'll be up any minute. I know not to speak when he awakens, I know he doesn't want to hear me beg. So when his eyes open, I let mine close. When he slips out of the bed and puts on his clothes, I beg God for him to kiss me before he leaves. Just a little peck on the cheek, something, anything to know he cares, even if its just a little bit. But he never does, and I know he never will.
A/N: A woman's feelings on Spotty. Review PLEASE!