Somewhere In Brooklyn

39 - December 21

I wish to wake up next to you and your untamed hair, not to an empty cold space of my bed.

I wish every good mornings and goodnights to be kissed, not sent.

I wish to run my fingertips across your skin, map every freckles and moles and scars on your body, write poems and lyrics on your back with my lips.

I wish to say this all to you, not to my journal, but I don't think you would appreciate a 3AM drunk text from me.