It’s not like it’s an untold story that most loves stories don’t end like the movies. Perfect and simple, pretty untold litle memories where it just happens to be we end up happy. Wouldn’t you rather it messy and ready to just read like manic moments of insanity and then then the parts where arms are held around me, my beat pulsating into rhythmns. I am in love, and in love knows no time. Arrives at your door messy and unshaven but ready. When possible isn’t that moment at the end with the perfect song playing, and we are in love. That wouldn’t be any fun. No story to tell there to neat.. I rather it the other way where I just touch you and I am musty in the sweat of our angst. The dirty angst of what we didn’t do, what we didn’t say. . We kept being wrong, touching where we shouldn’t, laying where we can’t get up to find ourselves in reality. Our reality is lost to this moment. You have come to this place with love in your movement but not in your words and why… I want to ask but answers are spoken in heart rhythmns as I have said. Our language is not of the ears of others. I want to be angry but all I can be.. is who God wants me to be, this woman in this place with situation at this time, with these words to hushed and whispered and screamed and penetrated and………..