Take me away

I’m sitting on the bed, wearing her top and smelling like her, ready to go , just waiting for her to stop looking at herself in the mirror. I watch her go through the same cycle..dressed, undressed, and dressed again. We play the usual game: Music in the background, wine in our hands, the do I look fat?followed by the of course nots..watching our cheeks turn rosy, our visions get blurry, and our laughs go louder. Forgetting about our insecurities, our doubts, our fears, just for now..Its me and her. Heels on, tops down, and we’re out.

I wake up with a familiar headache, it bothers me no more, it just reminds me of another great night we spent together. Going through the pictures on my camera, thinking to myself how the hell did this happen?

Surrounded and consumed. Consumed by the people in my life that’s how it has always been, and I struggle. I struggle because I didn’t plan this, I could’ve sworn I was content, satisfied, done with adding people to my contact list. I fight so hard to keep each encounter formal..nice meeting you too, and then we’d part. But we were not meant to part.

Wasting hours together, doing nothing but being together, and I drift to the future..always a bad idea, I learned not to expect, not to wish or plan..life doesn’t work by an agenda..but somehow, don’t ask me how, she’s going to be there. She’s been stabbed before, managed to recover, but their will always be a fracture in her spine, forever ruptured. Her beauty lies in her fragility. Its hard for her to trust, and I just want to teach her again. I want her to see herself through my eyes.. see the beauty of her soul, and the generosity of her heart.

I look at myself and I see a part of her in me. We barely argue, we never fight, we’re on the same level, and how on earth did that happen? She broke my independence, shattered it to pieces, but I like it this way. She can take whatever she wants, because she’s the sister I never had. So I let her invade my personal space, because for the first time it feels mutual, it’s a reciprocal bond. I’m the arm that holds her when she cries, so that I don’t cry myself. I’m the glass she taps because I too am looking for happiness and I find it when I’m around her.

I’m halfway through my third glass of water, waiting for her to come over, so we can play our little games again, so we can hide in each other’s arms, so we can forget about him and her, so we can restore some of the innocence they stole. Waiting for her to come, song stuck in my head, and it cries out to me “if you should die before me, please ask if you could bring a friend”..