Hipparchia
Primus registratum
Lonely
Lonely is not when I am sleeping, dreaming of having your baby, like last night. It is knowing it will never happen, knowing that I can never let it happen.
Lonely is not having no one knock on my door; It is having to undress myself when you are not around.
Lonely is not having to sit on the table and eat by myself. It is having my food prepared from people who get paid to do it. The food is loveless. Tasteless.
Lonely is not contemplating particular moments spent together; it is dreaming of our hopeless/absurd future.
Lonely is not wanting you from afar; it is not being with you when we are near.
Lonely is not being incapable to express what we really think in the back of our minds. It is being able to withhold what we most want to say. For we don't know how to say it. Still.
Lonely is not when I am not seeping in your bed, lying on my belly with arms and legs spread as if about to fly. It is when I fail to imagine all of its details--including the dust on the over-head light.
Lonely is not being unable to find the right words to describe how I feel; it is being unable to feel you.
Lonely is not when you rebuke me (no, this actually turns me on.) It is rather when you remain perfectly passive.
Lonely is not having you not know exactly how I think. It is rather not having you know what I think.
Lonely is not being alone; it is pursuing our quests--inherently solitary.
Lonely is not not having you share my bed, or even know how it looks; it is thinking that it's perhaps better for me that you don't.
Lonely is not missing you when I'm down and fearful. It is missing you when I'm high.
Lonely is not when I dance in front of my mirror, half-naked, to music you wouldn't like; it is dancing to trip-hop with overtly forward and sexy men while thinking of you.
Hyper Hot Hippy Hipparchia
Lonely is not when I am sleeping, dreaming of having your baby, like last night. It is knowing it will never happen, knowing that I can never let it happen.
Lonely is not having no one knock on my door; It is having to undress myself when you are not around.
Lonely is not having to sit on the table and eat by myself. It is having my food prepared from people who get paid to do it. The food is loveless. Tasteless.
Lonely is not contemplating particular moments spent together; it is dreaming of our hopeless/absurd future.
Lonely is not wanting you from afar; it is not being with you when we are near.
Lonely is not being incapable to express what we really think in the back of our minds. It is being able to withhold what we most want to say. For we don't know how to say it. Still.
Lonely is not when I am not seeping in your bed, lying on my belly with arms and legs spread as if about to fly. It is when I fail to imagine all of its details--including the dust on the over-head light.
Lonely is not being unable to find the right words to describe how I feel; it is being unable to feel you.
Lonely is not when you rebuke me (no, this actually turns me on.) It is rather when you remain perfectly passive.
Lonely is not having you not know exactly how I think. It is rather not having you know what I think.
Lonely is not being alone; it is pursuing our quests--inherently solitary.
Lonely is not not having you share my bed, or even know how it looks; it is thinking that it's perhaps better for me that you don't.
Lonely is not missing you when I'm down and fearful. It is missing you when I'm high.
Lonely is not when I dance in front of my mirror, half-naked, to music you wouldn't like; it is dancing to trip-hop with overtly forward and sexy men while thinking of you.
Hyper Hot Hippy Hipparchia