I'm so restless and cold, uncomfortable. Every direction I turn I wish to see your face or the curve of your shoulder, to feel the warmth of your skin. To cater and care for you; hold you and kiss you until you feel better.
I await the return of our meanful goodnights, and our tight grasps while we forget about the world. You're all that matters to me, you in my arms, you infront of me. Your kisses lined with velvet, hugs with silk.
My everything, I await your return

These words seem to escape me more and more often nowadays. Everything is wrong. But it's so right. I mean, I don't know. Me of course it's right, it's so right, and it's magnificent, and that's all that matters to me. Open my eyes to things I would have never seen, stand up and run, and run, and run. Scream, and shout and sing. And, its all right.There are people who forget these feelings, just like how they forget how it feels to be 16 when they turn 17. Forgetful, forgetful. But how could I forget this? So perfect, so beautiful. If only we all felt so big all the time, life would be easier. 

I feel I'm reaching, reaching so far but nothing materialises. The hole in my heart begins again, and I can feel the weight. Let it weigh.

I miss you

There could be something written on me... I suppose, if I was more interesting, if it was worthwhile. Words describing the way my hair drifted in the wind, or the way my eyes shifted. I feel my life is a novel some days, and feeling as if my all my natural movements turn into acted, artificial movement. A human puppet, concentrating on a nose twitch or a nervous gulp.

Even I get bad thoughts sometimes.
They flood my head and spill out through my eyes to soak my pillow for hours on end. Catching colds sleeping on wet pillows drenched in sorrow. Some days I  stumble out of bed and fall to my knees, mumble prayers of protection to those who have provided me with so much, afraid that one day he'll take them away from me. All the while holding in my sobs, afraid they'll wake her through the phone. Once she was there, I got up and left her sleeping like the angel she is. Locked myself in the dark bathroom until the tears almost suffocated me, wiped my eyes and returned to her. Sat on the side of the bed and started weeping again, she rolled over and held me and fell asleep with my head on her chest. The thoughts left me with sore eyes and dry lips.
But they come back now and then returning like an old companion; a dog never forgets its owner.