© CNirvana
so I concede to ride in the back seat, hands crossed neatly in my lap
lazily laid back
with the wind of the night air blowing the delicate curl past my ear
it feels good
brushing against my cheek
tickling the nape of my neck
those delicate tendrils
I miss my fingers in your hair
and as the doctor tells me so
I lock myself in the bathroom,
whisper only to those that can hear
and bid the world goodnight
the only one I need will
never leave
perfect still doesn't exist
