Bad Timing
It took five years for me to realize he loved me. It took five years for me to reazlie that maybe...maybe I loved him. But that moment, that minute, that second was too late and he was gone and I was lost. Our eyes had met- muddy green on midnight blue- and then he was gone and all the words I wanted to say were slienced. He'd disappeared, like he'd never been there. So much of our story is bad timing. And who says that'll change now? Because that moment, that minute, that second he was gone and I was too late. Maybe next time this realization will be made together; maybe next time we'll both be here to realize that love...love is a strong word that means strength and fear and pain and going through it all together. Maybe next time I wont be too late. Because that moment, that minute, that second went by too quick. Not even with pointed gazes always meeting; not with untimely dismissals, but instead with our hearts beating furiously and our souls sparkling brightly. Maybe, just maybe, that moment, that minute, that second that he's back, our declaration will be made with the unmistakable touch of skin on skin. And the words will finally slip past my lips like a whisper in the wind; and he'll return the with blue eyes blazing even though they're a color closer to ice than fire. And I'll finally know that one moment, one minute, one second can change an entire lifetime with three simple words.
