Quantity, not quality...

...right? At least. That's what I've been told. Sometimes.

It's kind of hard when you put your heart and soul into something, but you don't get anything back.
But sometimes you get little things back in the most unexpected places and times. Don't know what I'm talking about? Ask.

Today I wrote some real poetry. I haven't written a poem in a really long time, although I guess you can call anything a poem. Read, judge, do whatever you want. That's what writing is. It's freedom.

You were driving.
We didn't really have anywhere to go,
But you were driving.
I looked at you.
We were at a stoplight.
You kissed me, and after that I silently wished for a red light every time,
Even just a deserted stop sign.
The warmth of your lips
Reminded me of hot chocolate,
Bathing in my mouth
After a blisteringly cold walk in the morning.
You pulled away
And focused on the road.
I bit my lip,
Wondering if you would let it happen again.
But you did,
Kissing me impulsively
And resting your gentle hand
On the rip in my jeans
That barely exposes my knee.
Your finger tips shot lightning bolts
All the way to my toes.
You pulled away again,
Hiding the smile I can detect in your eyes,
But there is mystery behind it.
You gripped the steering wheel.
Glancing out of the corner of my eye,
I notice a line running down
The very same forearm
That placed the hand on my knee.
The very same line
That shows your indefinite grip on the wheel.
Slowly,
Reluctantly,
I reach out
And trace the line.
You steal a look at me
For just a second,
And we lock eyes.
Your eyes hold
Mystery, questioning.
I would rather leave it a mystery.