Please go: It pains me when she tries to be authoritative. It's worse than when she's being passive, because then I can withstand what normally greets my lips everyday - if not, it's discomfort and squares in circles, jelly in sand.
So I hold her hand and bring her to the places she otherwise would not go. And I look at myself and she's so sweet inside my eyes, and in my chest, behind my knees. It's a cushion, and a design on top of it; dainty, directive, and daunting.
Because it's wrong, it's all all Wrong, wrong. If you say it enough...it won't make any more sense. And I can't make sense of it, although I try, and I reason with myself, forgetting her. And then,
Oh, how he makes my day: It's always embarrassing and uncomfortable when you rub their open facing tummies in broad daylight like this. He doesn't want it, and it's worse than when he's being miserable. It's, I guess it's normal.
And the smiles, they come and what he wants - it isn't as if you care, but it's just okay because it's making you a little bit happier, you're actually becoming more comfortable. He smiles for comfort sake, and so do you, and we're very comfortable with each other.
Congratulations to all, myself included.
No comments:
Post a Comment