lazy. lethargic. avoidance. regret.
writing is too real, too poignant. it brings too much truth to the surface.
the smell of sweetness on your neck. i breathe it in, conscious that it may be the last time i smell your smell.
and we dance. in the living room. to a sweet, old love ballad. swaying back and forth in a blissful state of peace. holding you, holding me. we are one, even if for a brief moment. we are one.
reality seeps through the window with the first light of day, taking you away from me again. resentful air replacing the loving vibrations. i am lost. what do i do? what can i do, to bring you back to the here and now?
my love for you is long, incomplete, starved and sweating. hungry for more moments in the now with you. hungry for your touch and your whispers of love and affection.
but resentment lives on. rearing it's ugly head, just as the sweetness settles in and you think, maybe, it's here to stay.
in those moments, i am left, wilting like a week old rose.
