sitting indian style
which is not what you're supposed to call it anymore
the last time i sat like this
i was spending too much time
on the thoughts of one
one who would tell me later on
that he did not feel
the same way i did
i find myself back here again
cross legged
indian style
on concrete
whose warmth is felt through the seat of my pants
i just want to laugh at myself
for doing this again
it's bordering on masochistic
but i can't seem to get enough
he's laying there
stretched out
one flip flop dangling, the other one off
some sort of swiss looking belt
shirt in just enough disarray
to see that space of skin
just above his belt
arms folded behind his head
that's how people sit when they care about nothing
the world keeps turning even with eyes closed
all i wanted was to stretch out next to him
look up at the sky
i don't know why i thought that laying close to him
right then
would make me feel safe
but instead i stayed where i was
cross legged
and knew that he did not feel
the same way i did