by Kahlen Ryba

Created on: January 23, 2007   Last Updated: May 14, 2007

Barefly...

It is cold. It clutches at my chest, exposed by the low cut sundress dress in which I am clad.
He sleeps on the bed in the corner, the dog on the ground.
The calming flows of the music barely playing its sad-sweet melodies. The rememberence of warm pasta on a hot day kisses my thoughts and snaps me to the realization I am grinding my teeth. The sun on my face, my craziness tucked away for now. Not as many exhausting panics. A good day.
"You smell of moonlight and early morning rain." And dew gathering on the leaves of the low-hanging trees as we hunker under them, merry and exposed in subtlety and shyness. And darkness. Water. Flowers. Time.
My thoughts have been consumed with these aches for so long. It is an embarrassing admittance.
The bouyancy of its freedom, of my excitement in seeing you there. It tugs at me and snatches my eyes to the back of my mind. It is so hard.
yet I keep on.

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