Twilight-Roses

God, I can barely remember when we were strangers and all I knew was your name. And I could sit next to you, and not feel a thing. I could look in your eyes and not know exactly what you were thinking. I wish I could draw out my feelings. But all I would get is a mess of paper and pencil and some scrambled up picture of demented people with missing heads and limbs. Or no faces. So I write. Because there’s something so methodic about the rolling of a ballpoint pen running over college ruled paper. It’s an antidrug in itself- rehab in every letter and safety in every punctuation. No, not like a cut. Not like a s