it is almost that I don't remember you...
When you, we(!), were young, when I was oh so.(!)
we were.
Much more independent,
Insistently more.
Full of belief, much more than now...
In as such I believe that I am a slave to the ellipses...
in as much as I believe, I'd be a slave, from my own douchebaggdness.
In so much as I should, paraphrase the words of "no one",
"nothing," I'd say aloud... (we are not twelve(!!)), such as your vocabulary that could kick the darkness.
Sunlight.
in 7th grade, I had such a fine shroud look.
My look towards your way...
In seventh grade, I had a flaird, and carefree,
glance in your direction.
Such hair, flaw-free and careless, that my index and fore finger threw rounds to your own innocuous ability.
I couldn't of let you known.
or expressed it more complete
than my current ramblings.
I wish you were next to me,
in that way that you were.
In the way that we used to be.
In a flight of understanding.
In my twist of wind.
Towards the vanity of nothing,
or close to what we could've become.
It's late, you are no where to be found.
I am tired.
I am still going strong.
