His hand serenades my waist as we sit at lunch, he holds me tight not wanting to let go. His grip is embracing but not demanding, just caring. "I love you." He says gently as you scoot closer. Closing in on the final kiss until the bell, waiting for the world, to again, crumble apart, while you area mere three yards apart, but every yard, every millimeter, is hell growing out of the cracks in the ground, killing everyone around.
I Know I'm Too Young... For Love
September 14, 2010