At the end of my search there was a Frenchman named Claude. He told me in a stiff tone (every word spoken in roundabout code) that his daughter could help me; she dabbled in this sort of thing, and she was good at what she did. He left the bar before I did, directions to their little hovel hastily scrawled on a napkin left crumpled against my glass. I finished the sludgy, bitter drink I had ordered, and wobbled back home to Kurt.
I told him, in whispered tones too low to be heard by anyone listening, about the girl. I trembled as I spoke, my fingers dancing like twitchy spiders against his hip as I leaned in close. He humo
Is this what love is?
She's constantly on my mind.
I simply cannot wait to talk to her.
Cannot wait to hear her
Voice
And yet...
Other times it's not this way.
Words fly like debris from a hurricane.
We sling insults left and right,
Wishing we'd never been together.
Sometimes,
I wish it would just
Stop
But then...
Then, I remember the good times.
Us, hand in hand smiling and laughing.
Filled with complete
Joy
It is at that moment that it all melts away.
Nothing matters anymore.
I am simply myself.
She is simply herself.
We are simply
Us