nuwanda

he is not appreciated, yet i can look deeper. deep enough to look on the surface and see how wonderful he is. caring is a lost form. for who else would i see the world with; someone who does not care? he is quiet, yet i can listen. i can hear him talk for hours and not take in a word he is saying, for it is him speaking. who else would tell me what a tax invoice is while i sleep on his thigh? he is boring, yet he entertains me. i could sigh like a dog on a summer's day while tucked into his side with his arm around me, and who else would tell me his mother thinks boredom is a good thing? he is smart, and i will compete. who has more wit, who is more educated, who is smarter? are we the same, do we match each other? is that why we are drawn to one another, despite his mother's unjust hatred for me, and my mother's pressure to be loud and proud. pride is good, yet i am comfortable. who else would tell me what a tax invoice is while i sleep on his thigh? he is weird, and i love it. there is no yet, no but. 

edit: he dumped me for no apparent reason.