It starts as an ache deep in your bones, a writhing mass of vines creeping up the cracks and furrows of your body. It leaves you wanting, wishing, waiting and hoping. It makes you restless, makes you crave his touch again.
His hands twined in your hair, locked in place. His arms holding you up, touching the dark corners of your once bright soul. The weight of his body resting against you, holding, a safe haven in the night.
Remembering the soft touch of his lips, bright eyes gleaming, sparkling with mirth. His scent, whole and man, him. Only him.
But it was your mistake. Your broken promise that you were too naiive to see, always wanting to place the blame on others. When you realize, it breaks your heart. Shatters it, the feeling that you've lost something is so profound it leaves you aching. He said he didn't want to speak to me, did not want to see me. But does he?
Perhaps it is my mind making the fantasy, always waiting with open arms. Falling in to the worst demon, hope. Hope tears me down and builds me back up. So when I find him staring across the crowded rooms, is it my imagination or does he regret. Maybe I am seeing hope and promises where none had ever thought to dwell.
What I know is that one day I will meet his gaze and not look away in shame and guilt.
The heart is the strongest part of you, but it can be your downfall. It will wage wars on your behalf and never regret all the scars you place on it.
