November nights are especially stricken with melancholy, as if the ghosts of all winter past come rushing to haunt her heart.
She was a captive of her love, her desire, and her dreams.
There's always a special quality to the loneliness of dusk, a...
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents are the product of the authors' imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, dead or living is purely coincidental.
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Am I not the girl you dream of? Have I never once visited the threshold of your thoughts? In an ocean of women vying for your attention; I will never stand a chance.
You were always there on a pedestal; high up above the blustery clouds.
You.
The thought of you fills me up when I starve. It quenches me when I thirst. It comforts me when I beckon for your love. The thought of you alone enough to satisfy a craving within my heart, a stubborn itch in my soul.
Won't you notice me? Are you not fazed by the pull of my affection, the intensity of my lingering gaze?
In times such as these, when I start to wonder. When? When have I become envious of the ground you walked upon? When was the last time my head was free of the thought of you?
You ruined me, in such a sweet way.
Your name chanted in my mind, a far away echo undulating in the mesh of my brain.
