right now

it’s 11pm
your blonde hair feels like a warm soft pillow, first thing in the morning
your eyes reflect love
and the car smells like sex.
we’re parked off a busy lygon st,
right now
it’s 11pm
The apartment lights around us shine
yet it feels like we’re the only ones awake.
Right now,
I feel your cheek
laying in my hand
I don’t want to spend this life alone
thinking about the what if’s at 1am
cause I don’t know how to cope with love any more.

It’s 11:50pm
I’m driving home.
Her scent is on my hands.
I can smell it all around the inside of my car
I remember my hand, grabbing her ass,
down those tight jeans of hers,
and kissing her mouth — the sweet lips
her tongue, the hot sex.
Is this guilt, I feel?
Did I deserve this?
Did we rush into it?
or am I overthinking things like usual…
I bet I am.
I always do.
Women like this, they have a way,
a way of haunting you,
like you’re sitting by the bonfire in your sleeping bag,
and end up falling asleep,
only to find the bag on fire,
burning your feet.
and you feel it, oh boy, you feel it
walking through the forest the next day.
I got work tomorrow,
an honest 8 hours,
but all I can think of is her.
Not the other I’ve fucked,
and sent messy, cowardly messages of half-loves and full-lust,
it’s just her.
I won’t get enough sleep tonight,
but it was worth it.
Even my elbow misses her clutches.

Right now
It’s 1am.
You’ve already left me,
and I’m already in bed.
I’m unsure what I felt tonight,
is it another hurried dead end towards a court of half rushed, half checked love?
What does she in me? I mean, I wouldn’t fuck me.
Why should she?
Does she know what I’ve done?
The other women I’ve been with?
The thoughts I’ve had the past few months?
The things I’ve done in my life, that I’m ashamed of?
I don’t want to say she’s too good for me,
because really, I’m scared of breaking her heart,
because my heart burned out a long time ago,
and she’s warmed, only by the embers of what’s left.

Right now.
It’s 1 year later.
4:29am.
I’m writing this, right now
because we broke up
3 weeks ago.
It fucks me up thinking about that night
I fell in love with you.
Because the world’s grown cold,
and I still sleep on your pillow you left at my house,
but it doesn’t smell like you any more,
in fact
I can’t remember your smell any more.
Maybe it’s for the best.
who knows.