izz_midnight

I regret not running to you

Yet I regret running to you then but

Now it's behind me

I think of how we talk

Of how we laugh, then 

I pick apart every word

Guitar Girl

She plays guitar 

She writes songs

She lives not far

And I could stay there all day long

She ties back her hair

And hides her insecurities 

Summer is not my favorite season,

summer is not really my jam,

but as June, July, and August

approach in their usual pack,

I find myself longing for the winding days,

the heat that slowly drives us all crazy,

The talking. The low hum of the trout tank. A few quiet people, me included. The sounds of people being scolded for their behavior at school. The cracking as I crack my fingers. The clickity-clacking of the keys on the keyboard. 

Even your favorite subject can be your hardest.  

Even the "smart ones" will fail. 

Even good grades become futile.  

Even a textbook won't teach you.   

Inspired By My Own Book Series 

“What are you going to miss most?”
“You.”

     Oh lover,