I'm looking at you, you're looking at me through the transparent prison we're trapped in. I touch the glass trying to reach you...I can't. You raise your hand up to mine until, we're perfectly aligned. I can feel your warmth but, I can't feel YOU... I can't feel your skin, your heartbeat, your soul. I can't feel anything through this wall of glass keeping you from me. The warmth from your hand... It's radiating onto me. It's not enough. It'll never be.
I see you pacing back and forth, having an internal war within yourself. I wish I could help you. I wish I could go through this glass, it's not enough just looking at you... How can we get passed this? Sometimes I wonder if you even want to...
The glass, our transparent prison it's becoming foggy. I can't see you properly anymore, just a outline of your figure. I wonder if you noticed this too, you haven't looked at me in days. Look over here please... You don't even have to look at me. I lay my forehead on the glass staring into the swirls of fog. A figure appears on the other side directly in front of me. At first I thought it was you. The figure dissipated. I wish it was you...
YOU ARE READING
Untitled No.1
Historia CortaThis is a collection of short stories (and I mean short), I wrote and typed. They're all pretty short since, I can never finish an actual story... I always lose motivation or get pretty bad writer's block. If you guys enjoy this I might post my poem...
