He leaves for work before the sun comes up, and lets me sleep in his one-room apartment on Las Palmas smack in the middle of Hollywood. I work nights, and come by his place around two a.m., waking him up with a bang on the window.
I sleep for a while and then stumble to the kitchen and pour the coffee he made hours before. I stop at the turntables and put on a scratched up copy of Rockers to Rockers. He always tells me to be careful with that one. Place the needle on the record very carefully. I always try. It's my favorite.
I light a smoke and open his front window. Kids walk by who should be in school. The streets in Los Angles already hot and wild.
I grab a notebook and a pen and do for him what I do every single morning.
I write him a love note. I lay on the couch and remember the night before and how he held me so close and whispered how hard he loved me and how my lips were perfect.
I write him: You are cool. The coolest guy I'd ever been with. For one, you don't treat me like crap. Secondly, you make me feel like a queen. These are two things I've never felt before. So this means a lot.
And the curve in your lower back is perfect to lay my hands on.
And the blue in your eyes are a pool to dive into.
And your hands. Your hands can build dreams against my skin. They are the only hands I ever want to hold me in that way.
Thank you for the strawberry milkshake you made me this morning after I was done serving pasta on Melrose to a bunch of drunks.
I write things like that. I poured it all in. I did this every morning, leaving it on his pillow for him to find in a few hours. The one that smelled like a mix of me and him. And I'd go about my day.
And now, I don't have time to write him love notes.The work the kids the life. I am full. But now, he comes home from work every day and hands one to me. A love note to make up for the years he never did.
Life is a perfect balance when you find true love.
I sleep for a while and then stumble to the kitchen and pour the coffee he made hours before. I stop at the turntables and put on a scratched up copy of Rockers to Rockers. He always tells me to be careful with that one. Place the needle on the record very carefully. I always try. It's my favorite.
I light a smoke and open his front window. Kids walk by who should be in school. The streets in Los Angles already hot and wild.
I grab a notebook and a pen and do for him what I do every single morning.
I write him a love note. I lay on the couch and remember the night before and how he held me so close and whispered how hard he loved me and how my lips were perfect.
I write him: You are cool. The coolest guy I'd ever been with. For one, you don't treat me like crap. Secondly, you make me feel like a queen. These are two things I've never felt before. So this means a lot.
And the curve in your lower back is perfect to lay my hands on.
And the blue in your eyes are a pool to dive into.
And your hands. Your hands can build dreams against my skin. They are the only hands I ever want to hold me in that way.
Thank you for the strawberry milkshake you made me this morning after I was done serving pasta on Melrose to a bunch of drunks.
I write things like that. I poured it all in. I did this every morning, leaving it on his pillow for him to find in a few hours. The one that smelled like a mix of me and him. And I'd go about my day.
And now, I don't have time to write him love notes.The work the kids the life. I am full. But now, he comes home from work every day and hands one to me. A love note to make up for the years he never did.
Life is a perfect balance when you find true love.
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