Things aren't always black and white.
Actally, almost never.
There's more to you,
Then meets the eye.
More to me, then the gold hair,
Whispering to you,
Through the wind.
I belive,
That sometimes,
I'm too much.
Too
Much
L
o
v
e
I've only got a year
Let me,
And I'll let you.
she takes the stairs,
her heels click clacking down the hardwood steps.
she turns the tarnished silver doorknob,
and the door creaks open.
before her sits a man.
I catch a glimpse.
from afar,
the shine of his silky hair in the golden sunlight
his expression unreadable,
as if he's pondering something he'd never tell a soul.
Kathy watched out her window as Samuel left his apartment,
spit his gum on the ground
and lit his cigarette.
the same as yesterday.
the same as every day.
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