lxxiv. EVEN IN MY COFFIN,
YOU'LL BE IN MY THOUGHTS,
DREAMING OF YOU NEXT TO ME.
you,
a figment of my imagination. someone i can not touch, embrace, reach for enough till my fingertips graze you. it is this, the reason my heart mourns for things that don't exist. a love that only blossoms in dreams, hoping sleep can one day be for eternity. fingers crossed under stained, white pillows, tonight, we shall meet under a starry night. we will talk until three pm about things we can't understand, spit lies until it is all we are choking on, laughter unheard of in the forest of all lost. when awoken, tears will keep the conversation going.
i swear, i don't miss you. i think it's the organ between lungs that hurt the most when you departed from where you belonged.
she can't sleep well with a piece of her gone.
YOU ARE READING
on this day.
Poesíaxvii, april. (ii). these words speak louder than i ever will. © playlist poetry h.r. : #55
