"Another 2AM"
..And it was like nothing had happened. My smiles were purposely knowing, throwing lustful glances back at you with a tilting eyebrow and I would mouth, "Tonight, Luna,"
Yet, you never met me in the dormitory again. By 2AM I would be dozing, and waking up ever four minutes, as the wind sounded just like your little sigh that told me I must have been doing something right.
Now I'm worried our moment won't return, and there is nothing left of us.
I'm so uncomfortable.
It's so difficult walking next to you with the urge to throw you against the wall and take your lips that were so warm, contrasting to the air around us as our hearts took flight on my broom.
I'm so uncomfortable.
The mattress has become so flat on this side, but I cannot shift my weight or roll over because that was your side, and I don't want to lose the scent of your hair on that pillow. I wouldn't dare move those little blonde threads.
It was another 2AM when I dropped from the window.
No, I mounted my broom in midair. It was another 2AM, like our 2AM. The sky was just as violet reflected in your dreaming eyes that cried, only from the wind in your face.
My tears fall to fill this, well, this emptiness. This Lack of Moments. Love is a most unhappy fate. Just an endless search for moments, really. A perfect sport for a seeker; still, I no longer care for anything other than you.
The sky is violet again, but I've locked my broom away. I don't think I'll ever fly again. I still wake up at 2AM sometimes, my subconscious far too hopeful.
I have turned my face away, and now I cannot see the sky at all.
And I'll try to pretend like nothing ever happened.
..And it was like nothing had happened. My smiles were purposely knowing, throwing lustful glances back at you with a tilting eyebrow and I would mouth, "Tonight, Luna,"
Yet, you never met me in the dormitory again. By 2AM I would be dozing, and waking up ever four minutes, as the wind sounded just like your little sigh that told me I must have been doing something right.
Now I'm worried our moment won't return, and there is nothing left of us.
I'm so uncomfortable.
It's so difficult walking next to you with the urge to throw you against the wall and take your lips that were so warm, contrasting to the air around us as our hearts took flight on my broom.
I'm so uncomfortable.
The mattress has become so flat on this side, but I cannot shift my weight or roll over because that was your side, and I don't want to lose the scent of your hair on that pillow. I wouldn't dare move those little blonde threads.
It was another 2AM when I dropped from the window.
No, I mounted my broom in midair. It was another 2AM, like our 2AM. The sky was just as violet reflected in your dreaming eyes that cried, only from the wind in your face.
My tears fall to fill this, well, this emptiness. This Lack of Moments. Love is a most unhappy fate. Just an endless search for moments, really. A perfect sport for a seeker; still, I no longer care for anything other than you.
The sky is violet again, but I've locked my broom away. I don't think I'll ever fly again. I still wake up at 2AM sometimes, my subconscious far too hopeful.
I have turned my face away, and now I cannot see the sky at all.
And I'll try to pretend like nothing ever happened.