Insomniac

eleven.

The longer I think about it, the longer I pity myself for hoping. The longer I sit up at night, the longer I ache for your touch, your voice, anything to calm my nerves and race my heart to see when it would beat out of my chest. Giving you my love was not, nor will it ever be, a mistake. Giving myself the hope that someday, maybe someday, it would be returned to me along with yours was. I don't want to see you in my dreams, I don't want to picture a future with you, but it's hard not to. When the only attention I get from you is inside of my unconscious mind, I settle and it is enough. It will always be enough.

I really want a hug from you, just to smell your smell and feel your warm self shelter me from the bad long enough to make it go away.