Seems like I should be taking this all down. Taking notes on my life as if I'm watching from a far. Is this really me? Is this really happening? I want to be present. I want to participate. I want to jump up on my desk, arm waving high. But somehow I can't get through this screen. So here I sit.
The snow is hurling from the sky with frosty passion. The sky, almost dark. The streets lights have been turned on. It's time for transition.
I have been sleeping alone lately. Dreaming, fantasizing, about passionate nights. Pressed up against walls and tongue deep. My body yearning and writhing for your touch. I remember being lost in the deep pools of your eyes. Now I float passive, wishing desperately to sink in them once more. Kiss the shores, and dive in arms open once again.
I love you.
I want to scream that from roof tops. Scream and scream until the universe notices me. I am three years old all over again, begging for the attention of my love, the only way I know how.
I have seen you walk away from me. Felt my soul rip into pieces as you vanished. I pushed everything aside and created a space that is solely yours, and now it's a gap that I yearn to fill. It's you shaped, and I know that. But sometimes denial is a twisted form of survival.
From my heart to yours, this is me.
