katroxursox

I never liked hospitals. They're just one, vast white mess of emotions. Everyday I walk the same corridors, and everyday I find myself being dragged into someone elses life. Room 103; Mrs Elston, alone at 81 with severe alzheimers. She calls out for her son, a causality of war, and the nurses just nod and smile because they can't find the words to tell her. Room 58; Alex Johnsson, age 5, a victim of leukaemia, but he's too young to understand why he makes his mama cry and why his papa says he can't become an astronaut. Room 81; Hannah Pritchard, mother of two, nearly three, but theres been complications, and now the doctors talk in hushed ton

Your kisses still leave a tingle on my lips, As faint now as the flutter of a butterfly's wings, Every now and then i remember the words you whispered to me, As soft as the breeze on a bright summer's day, I can still feel your hand in mine, your thumb caressing my skin, Like water running over smooth stones at the river's edge Your love stained my lips, my hands, my heart, Like ink on a clean piece of paper I am yours forever now, tainted, marked, stolen. I am claimed.

You said I tasted of oranges and lemons. I just laughed because it's universal, And you wore that little smile that Mixed up all the words on my tongue, The one that turns my every bone foreign. Pardon, ne parlent pas anglais! I blamed it on the vitamin water; Just looking at you left me With a mouth of sandpaper. Though I'd never admit it, I just wanted to feel your eyes on me. Because the only place I felt beautiful Was in the centre of your irises. You told me beautiful words Made a beautiful person, So I devoured yours, Hanging on to everyone that slipped your lips. I wanted to write every word down And put them in a