the indentions in my Rocky Horror Picture show poster. The arc made by your finger tips across it over and over again as you moved your hand nervously across the wall, absent-mindedly . . nervously.
The slight scent of you on my bed because you laid there for what seemed like hours.

The feeling in the pit of my stomache that has no intention of leaving and all the words floating in my brain.

the memory of my fingertips floating through your hair as you spoke, you just kept speaking. . . . word after beautiful word, sentence after sentence.

so beautiful, you were so beautiful.

I have never seen your face contort like that, in greif and anger and fury, all these emotions come out so raw . . . without the filter of inhibitions. There wasnt that fuzzy way emotions are supposed to be prtrayed, teh training of the face and the slight twitch of eyebrow shoing more under teh surface, it all exited your face.

my feet fell asleep and began to hurt from standing beside my lofted bed while you spoke, but i didnt move.

a new john lennon song requested, another story told. What i swore were tears in your eyes. What nearly became tears in mine.

i came to the conclusion a few nights ago, that it was in my best interest to stop falling for you, that it was a bad idea and would result only in me pining for you needlessly and with no reciprocation.

last night, while hey jude was playing and you sang along with your eyes closed, i had to leave. because seeing you that way . . . was all too endearing. And as you lay there, telling me things and saying over and over, 'i shouldnt be saying this' i felt for you more than i should.