You Never Cease To Amaze Me.

1984.

January 18th 2014.
126 Crosby St New York City, NY
9 am everyday.
Fifth table farthest from the window.
Your eyes glued to the novel,
"1984" by George Orwell.
You've seem to have read it several times just because it's the only literature worth your while.
You cherished that book.

You'd hold my hand while we'd walk down Jones Street as you'd tell me about when Winston met Julia and I'd nod, encouraging you to keep talking, not paying attention to the words that slipped past your lips but rather the sound of your voice.

How we sat on the floor of my bedroom as you read "1984". I just looked at you the whole time. Not paying any mind to the problems of Winston Smith considering I've heard it all, four times. The joy that grazed your features every time the novel was brought up. You were more than happy to converse about the subject. Your passionate eyes looking at mine to make sure I'm "enjoying" hearing the same words for the fourth time. I may not enjoy it but you do and that's all that matters to me.

When we'd sit in the back of your truck looking up at the stars as they'd litter the dark sky my hand in yours as you kissed my cheek and playfully bite my nose.
While I'd breathe in your beauty as if your heart was made to be loved my mine.

How I cried while you kept apologizing and trying to hold my hand as I'd pull away from you as if you were toxic.
How I told you that it was unfair for you to tell me you love for the first time then. So I could forgive you.
How I felt as i drove from your house that night. As I my head lied against the steering wheel and I sobbed because I knew, I knew that I'd come back you.
I always come back to you.

How I felt under you as my ribcage fluttered with my eyes closed
As you'd paint colors of purple and blue on my neck. My hands shaking as your lips traveled down my chest and to my hips.
Then surfacing to kiss my forehead and confessing your love for me.
As if the pain and the pleasure were
formed into one feeling, love.

How It felt to watch you
slip away from me.
As my life flashed before my
eyes as if I was the one dying.
I had nothing. Nothing.
Besides your copy of "1984"
My love. My Winston.

January 18th 2017
126 Crosby St New York City, NY
9 am everyday.
Fifth table farthest from the window.
My eyes glued to the novel,
"1984" by George Orwell.
I've seem to have read it several times just because it's the only literature worth my while.
You cherished that book. So I did too.