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it takes all my strength not to dig you up from the ground in which you lay  

don’t do sadness

We’re sitting opposite from each other, wasted pages of fine literature bent in our laps. The generic lighting turns my hands bone white. He is beautiful, and he is everything I wish you could be. This is not a love story. No, it isn’t like that at all. The topics change rapidly and I find myself muttering on and on about the recent days of my life. He is older and he is understanding. We talk and it is not casual for some time, for it’s something sneaky toes are needed for. Again, this is no love story. I find myself overwhelmed, out of breath. The flood gates crack and bust, and I’m crying and he shifts the book to the floor with out a second thought. He is holding me and I start praying, and I can almost feel him praying, too.