will sheff, how can you see into my life?

Hot breath, rough skin

warm laughs and smiling,
the lovliest words, whispered and meant
you (i) like all these things.

But, though you like all these things
you love a stone.
You love a stone,
because it's smooth and it's cold.
And you'd love most to be told
that it's all your own.

You love white veins,
you love hard grey,
the heaviest weight,
the clumsiest shape,
the earthiest smell,
the hollowest tone
you love a stone.

You love a stone,
because it's dark and it's old,
and if it could start being alive
you'd stop living alone.
And I think I believe that,
if stones could dream,
they'd dream of being laid 
side-by-side, piece-by-piece,
and turned into a castle
for some towering queen
they're unable to know.

And when that queen's daughter came of age,
I think she'd be lovely and stubborn and brave,
and suitors would journey from kingdoms away 
just to make themselves known....

[so basically, it scares me how well these words embody my relationship with kevin, especially as of late. i, love.. (eh essentially), a hollow, consciously existing stone.]