Sixty Nine

I remember that night.
At one point they started ragging on my love life.

Why. are. you. single.
They started asking questions, making accusations
blaming me. telling me it was my fault.
Everything was my fault.

You're too picky. You're so arrogant. So vain.
So proud and high and mighty.
What (they asked) What are you waiting for?


I don't know (I said) Something big.
Something big. (I thought) I'm waiting for something real.

Sixty Eight

Dear You,

This letter has arrived to you from the past, in the year 2010.
I realize I'm not the best at sharing, or admitting things aloud.
Here are a couple of pointers to help you out.

I secretly like it when you put your hand on my knee.
(Preferably when no one's looking.)

I surprisingly don't mind being told what to do.
(Whether I'll actually do it is another story.)

It's nice when you lie on me. You aren't too heavy.
(You are never too heavy.
and I want to feel your heartbeat.)

If I've taken something too far, hit me.
(I probably said it to see you smile anyway. )

You may touch my bangs.

A word to the wise: Don't mention this letter.
I'd deny everything here.

Cheers,
Me.