an ode to the loveless, these are for you.

toska

i didn't sleep well last night,
tossing and turning.
my plethora of blankets falling off the bed leaving me uncovered in my chilly room.

i kept dreaming of a forest,
it was drizzling but still warm.
i walked along this wooden bridge across a stream and i walked through the great trees that had to be hundreds of years old.
i pondered how many people had seen these trees throughout history.

i pondered if you had ever seen them too.

have you?

if not i'll take you there sometime,
whenever you're ready.

there's an odd longing for you buried deep under my ribcage and in the core of my heart.
i long for something that isn't even there.
i long with nothing to long for,
because you're not even mine!
and it pains me to think that someday you'll long for another,
one that won't be me.
but all i want is you to be happy even though i'd rather it be with me.

baby, you know you're my favorite.
don't you know that's why i'm still here?
i wish we could dance together again.
the most i'll ever get from you again is your presence in my dreams.
i'll learn to be content with that someday.

Toska
- noun /ˈtō-skə/
-Russian word roughly translated as sadness, melancholia, lugubriousness. "No single word in English renders all the shades of toska. At its deepest and most painful, it is a sensation of great spiritual anguish, often without any specific cause."