I now know why I still am tired. I'm not resting emotionally. I can't find it in the warmth of any bed or pillow when the night gets dark and stormy. The sky itself stirred me a cup of bliss and blue. But my eyes refused.
I'm afraid the comfort my friends try to utter have shrunk into platitudes. Perhaps their tongues have tired curling into words of cheer. Maybe disgust has already latched itself on their eyes.
No amount of sleep can rest my heart when the rest I need lies with someone I do not know.
It's over a year now and I still can't grasp reality. Reality slips the more these trembling hands try.
And I'm not going to lie—it hurts sometimes.
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Unmuffled
Poesíaa collection of his thoughts, questions, and manifestations on love and all the in-betweens
