Fingertips peoms stories

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I wear my heart on my fingertips


I wear my heart on my fingertips

No not on my sleeve or any other corny line that has been spewed by countless so called hopeless romantics

I wear my heart on my fingertips

No not on my arms, legs or thighs

Even though some men would love to see love plastered along my thighs and dive in between as if they found this pot of gold that leprechauns for centuries have been on the lookout for

(funny joke- like skittles they’ll never be able to taste my rainbow lolol *laugh*)

I wear my heart on my fingertips

Where I dig into my thoracic and rip out my heart in desperate attempt to have someone hold it, take care of it, nurture it in the hopes that we could both hold our hearts forever

I wear my heart on my fingertips

As I look outside this café window to salivate over a stranger,

ready to put my grasp onto another emotionally unavailable man to grab ahold of my fingers and hold it as gentle as a fragile UPS package

But that kind of love is only in terrible rom comedies

Where characters meet at some obscure setting and coincidentally bump into each other leading to meeting the one

My childhood self fell for these perfectly worded scripts, perfect actors,

and beautiful cinematography thinking that one day my very own Heath Ledger would accidently bump into me at a local grocery store as we go to grab the same pint of ice cream

We would laugh and conversate over ben and jerry's, feel this insane chemistry that begs for attention

My heart would be pulsing, beating as if I had drank 5 cups of coffee, one beat away from dying of exhaustion,

bleeding through my fingers waiting for Heath ask me on this exquisite date where our fingers melt into each other

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