You weren't my first kiss, but you were my first love. We had sex together for the first time; some glove, some love. Awkward and deliciously innocent. Young is what we were, I'd guess you'd concur. We don't speak anymore because it wasn't love or maybe it was and silence is the cause of such things; that's why it was what it was. Thinking about you is easy, forgetting you is hard, but am i supposed to? Lets pretend; let us defend such terrible greatness and adhere to Bliss, like our moments, as they all are, spread throughout our lives. I'm yours, you were never mine...I'll bleakly blind your hope and say when asked about you..."do you?", nope. That's hate not love; that's temper and reaction...a type of fulfillment derived from years of personal battle and crap; perhaps...never perhaps...never; always never satisfaction. I miss nothing about you and me cause we sucked as an "us", but I liked us. You won't read this, there's no reason for you to do such, I know we were so very different, but we always had our time to touch: skin-hearts; slight of head moments....this is where we could survive...where moments die
-xkp
these are great.
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