I'm becoming so immune to my own feelings that perhaps I ought to give in. She is all that matters and all that ever will. I'm only happy when she is here and she can lead me from the dark. My whole being has been crying a thousand silent prayers just to see her again. That ruffled 60's black skirt and the black and white stripey top with the flower in her hair - somehow I will never forget it.
I find myself craving the need to get intoxicated and write poetry . I cannot stop thinking about our next embrace, longing for her soft kisses and her soft skin upon mine. I don't suppose there's really a word to describe what I feel. Overjoyed, excited yet somehow still despondent and completely dejected. One thing I can say for sure is how I feel when she asks me to kiss her or to make love to her. I love her bones and that will never change.
If she was here now, I would be consumed in kissing her for the duration of this very evening. I want her and she is all I ever think of. My letters are locked in her drawer and I'm sure she still reads them from time to time. Maybe, maybe not. Intense she says is what I am however, how could I ever be in any other way. To act passively would be lying, a massive lie to myself even. My whole being is absorbed by her, the sound of her voice, her behaviour, her principles.
I have been busy but I've missed you and I keep waiting, waiting for something. Day blends to night, days to weeks, mornings to frothy filled nights and even the calendar doesn't know what day it is. Before you know, you're dead inside and you have no faith in trust but just around the corner she waits for you, your love, the one you thought never existed. Well she does.
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