I've realized that it doesn't matter how long I'm awake or how long I'm asleep. It doesn't matter when I finally close my eyes or when I open them, because really, I inevitably come to think of just one thing.
Just one.
A gentle brushing of finger tips, lightly touching my lips. More intimate than a kiss, it's a memory that presses against my mouth. It stays there, settles. Dies. Is reborn. Continues.
I'm quite sick of this and I'd like for it to stop.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment