It's 4:45am and here i am, trying to remember what your arms around me felt like, trying to recall the exact colour of your eyes.
I'm drowning myself in damaged polaroids and cheap cigarettes trying to remember the way your hair tickled my cheek and neck.
Fuck, i was terrified of forgetting the way you felt like and now it's 5:01am and the sun's rising and I'm high on the sound of your laugh playing from my phone from our voice recordings, trying to remember what being next to you felt like.
It felt like i was finally returning home, i reckon.
Goddammit, i miss you.
How can i miss you when i've forgotten what your hands felt like against my skin?
YOU ARE READING
numb
Poetry"he's colder than ice but god, he lights up a fire in my chest." a collection of sad words about numb skin and cold hearts
