My body aches, my eyes demand some sleep, but my mind is wide awake, expecting me to express how much this means. I have no strength to control the way my thoughts flow towards you; towards the image of your eyes and your face in the back of my own. Even if I did, I’d have no desire to refrain them. I have no hope for some sort of fairy tale; all I have is an idea of what this could become. I have no fear, no envy… although I know you’re not mine. Not like you were a thing to be owned. I know all I own is what I imagine before I fall asleep, or the echo of your voice in my ears when I hang up the phone. All this makes me feel like I’m your queen; whatever they might say, I couldn’t lose my ground: I own my thoughts. All that’s left is mine, not yours… This is my treasure, my little guilty pleasure. All I say might be or not be true, you’ll never know; I guess we both have things to risk. Whose years have taught the lesson well, yours or mine? To know that love is what we make it, or it’s as unreal as we let it. It doesn’t really matter. At the end of the day we both have a thing to enjoy, and another one keeping us annoyed. It’s not something to be fixed right now… perhaps the moment we try to fix it we will destroy it. Might as well live the moment, seek no reaping just yet. Might as well let it be… let it grow… or let it go.
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