My lips still tremble, my hips still thrash, my body still aches, for only you. Only you. Always you.
You’re my 4 am thoughts, alone in the silence of the night. You’re my 2 pm thoughts, a welcomed distraction in my work day when I’m aching to reach out and rest my hand on your thigh. You’re my 9 am thoughts, craving the warmth of you on all the cold lonely mornings. You’re my 8 pm thoughts, your head in my lap and my fingers through your hair. You’re my 11 pm thoughts, my fingertips aching for your skin to draw you impossibly closer.
If I squeeze my eyes shut, I can pretend your body is right here beside me again. I can pretend your hand is inches from mine, waiting for me to take it. I can reach out and feel your warmth. But then I open my eyes. It’s cold. And I’m numb.
“I’m giving up,” she finally cried.
But, still, she tucked the only key to her heart right there under the welcome mat – nestled safely for if her lover were to someday return. To someday come back home.
I wonder where I’ll go first,
I’ll hope forever that it’s to you.
I wish when I kissed you goodbye, I knew it was a goodbye forever. I never would’ve come up for air. I would’ve drowned in the taste of your mouth on mine, over and over again.
The silent self mutilation of climbing into fresh bedsheets dusted with the scent of you and gripping tight, realizing all my nights are spent sleeping with a ghost.
It was always there, an ocean between us. But now? It feels like galaxies. Like I’m light years from home and can never find my way back.
My love for you is endless.
A labyrinth I work my way through,
with no desire for an exit.
It settles into my bones,
and I spend my days wandering,
exploring all the new and profound pieces of you.
Do you still think of me as you fall asleep?
Do you reach for me in the middle of the night
the way I still reach for you?
Remember when I told you
that you were my muse?
Nothing has changed.
I’m drowning over and over,
and still praying the tide
will bring me back to you.
I’ve been inside my apartment for nearly five months now.
But I’ve never felt further away from home.
It’s down to the wire, a toothless thread of hope that I’ll still cling to. After all, what else do I have left to hold?
love, after all, is the most elaborate method of self harm.