At the garden, sipping my coffee, thinking of you..

dear taz: this was fully inspiered by your blog and writtings( inspired is the nice way to say it, stole is more like it)

its just that it was exactly the kind of thing I loved fully revolver around sadness, life, coffee..it had a mellon cholli style to die for, i loved it, so here is this , story? I am not sure what to call it.

I didnt praticulary like my complete dipendence on you, or the livel of depth wich my love for you had reached..

though you constantly told me and reassured me that your not going anywhere I still held on, stubornly, to that feeling at the bottom of my gutts. that which pocked me whenever I felt sad and the first person who came to mind was you.

as I rapp my self with my blanket, my bottmless, endless, pott of coffe seems to be stepping in , and providing the insperation that you took when you left.

now maybe I am miss understood, or maybeI over react, or maybe, just maybe, its cristel clear, and I am only denieng its reality, because its too hard to accsept, you dont really love me do you?

I poor some more coffee and simply watch, as I sit in my own back yard, just watch, the little beatl, without a care in the world, or the blue bird, sailing the skies, any time it gets a bit ruff, he could just, spread your wings and escape! let the air caresses your feathers.

how I envy you.

honey, I know, I know I stood back, I know I pretended not to care, and when you wanted to hold my hand, I didnt give it to you..

but I swear I only did it cause I was scared! scared of loving you, of losing you, every one I ever loved hurt me, its a defense mechanism, how am I suppose to know that you wont hurt me?

I take another sip.

you know, If you give me your hand right now, I would hold on to it and never let go.