Future in the past tense.

Lately I've been wanting listen to my favorite jr high sound track, while slow dancing with you..., with your body so close to mine yet so far away that inches feel like miles. And those miles build up so much tension that our bodies collide exploding like fire works on the 4th.

I just want to be close to you, holding you, showing you how real men love with no limitations or restrictions. I would be good to you. Like Adam Sandler in the wedding singer, I would grow old with you, watching as your hair fades to the color of silver. In my eyes you would become more valuable by the day.

I want to learn your name because it was taken from my tongue, while I slept. I awoke a different man. Living a different life. Now I spend my days trying to remember where we left off.
Where I left you.

The last thing I can remember was slow dancing to Rosie and the originals, angel baby. I was Holding you tightly as the words entered my ears triggering endorphins. We were happy, intoxicated by the music, moving slowly as we were caught in a trance.

I can still smell the honey suckle from your hair. I can still feel the heaviness of your breath against my chest. It seems so real and relentless that it taunts me in my sleep.


Before my eyes turn to dreams, I hide under mountains of blankets wishing to have your eyelashes bash against my face. I pray to wake up to your gorgeous stare or simply to find your lipstick pressed against my skin just to prove to myself that you really exist.