You’re not mine
I’m not yours
It will never change
We will never be ‘We.’
I want to love you. I want to own your name. I want to show you every crease of my wrinkled soul. I want you to fold and unfold my mind,kneading your love into it. I want to be,and I want to be with you. I want to love you, dreadfully.
GUYS. BARRETT JONES. Ignore my uniform BARRETT JONES.
She was absolutely gorgeous, like a doll, but oh so much more magnificent. Standing side by side, they said their vows, he held her hand as the preacher spoke of two becoming one. He mouthed ‘We’re married,’ through a smile and tears, and she did the little jump she always does when she gets excited, her sister nervously standing behind her, poised for action. As I stand there my mind wanders, my hands becoming slack on the bouquet. I think of Thursday night for a moment, and a smile crosses my lips. I dabble in thoughts of statistics and the high chance of all their saying now becoming null, all the hope they had ending in the same way it began; a court appointed document. I don’t want a contract. I don;t want a paper declaring I’m no longer me. I don’t want pews or flowers, hair and makeup, mass amount of cash put out, stitches hems, corsages, pictures, and the nervousness that comes with. I want a simple understanding that forever is more than I can promise, but something I’d be willing to fight for. I want late night talks, even when I can’t be touched. I want someone to spend my life with, I want me, I want you, I want us, happy.
The last I did on that series. I forgot about it and left it in my studio,and mold grew. I actually like it better now.
Dear future husband,
I’m sorry in advance for my fashion sense.
Do I have a clear conscience because I’ve done nothing wrong, or because I’ve stopped caring about what others think?
I am terrified
That you and I
will fit perfectly
but our lives
and family will not