I told you that if
you were to die before me
I would become a
lighthouse operator on
some desolate shore
with my typewriter
tapping out novels and
poetry while a
tugboat delivered my
food and letters
twice a week.

You replied that it was
just like me to
romanticize the fear
that grips my heart
and to be plotting
my escape already
but that I would not
survive with such an
absence of attention.

I do not think you
understand how much
I like you or
how little I like people
who aren’t you.

BB

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s