I lay here in bed next to you though you’re
farther from me now then before we met.
This longing to finish what seems to be
eternity slipping through my feeble hands has me questioning the reality of
there ever being anything in my hands to hold.
You just lay there. Your lack of interest and
effort are reasons there is any desire to hold with you sincere conversation in
the first place.
In recent moments I have stopped to notice
that inside my very being there is a yearning to hold you forever in my grasp.
Kissing.
Touching.
Growing.
Ultimately there is
only one thing that I desire more than any other…
Trust.
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