Just for you

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 Sometimes I imagine us together.


I imagine you here and me in your arms and aromatic candles burning .

I imagine watching your head move as I play  guitar for you .

I imagine your stories plastered on the walls of my heart till the blood no longer goes out.

I imagine your stories painted on the inside of my skin so I never shed them.

Is that too much?

I like to think that you’re for me. That you came here looking solely for me.

I like to think that the blood inside your hands longs to reach for mine.
I like to think of some unrealistic affection that came into existence just because you and I exist.
Is that too much?

I can almost touch your skin without shuddering at the heat.

I can take it for warmth and maybe I can melt.

I will defend your words long after you’re gone and I haven’t met you and I haven’t known what you’re upto.

I will talk about you to anyone who has ears and I will only ever search for your face.

After you’re gone, I will scream your stories at them in subtle hints that they’d never recognize.

They’re my stories now.

Is this too much?

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