The New Strangers

I'm a junkie when it comes to love.

And each time I wish to be torn apart and messed up.

"Miss you",you exhaled,

in between that drowsy voice and the silence following it.

Sometime in between the sunrise and the darkness before it.

You wait as the words replay in my head and mess everything up.What you do not realize is that had those words been capable of touching,they'd set me on fire.I close my eyes and refuse to speak.Our tangled story is enough to trap me already.

I've seen time,and mistakes and lessons gyrating about some invisible axis,impossible to stop.And I realize that you and I are dancing, intoxicated on razor blades.Its the same story over and over again.The same overwhelming feeling.The unaltered potent phenylethylamine rush.The twin madness.But this time

 its me and you and this.

Theres got to be another way to love you,because this one just isn't right.

Sometimes we love just because we long for a story.

Sometimes its a change.

Sometimes its red satin madness and the turmoil of emotions it causes.

Sometimes its just forced out of habit.

Sometimes its on the platter and semi-fulfilling.

Sometimes its perfectly played and won.

Sometimes it hits you when you least expect it to.

Sometimes you just can't runaway from it.

Sometimes its the awe.

But mostly its because its the best we can do.

I realize its time to stop where I am and love you from a distance.Atleast till I figure out which way to love you,in the best possible way I can.