And it's right now, that I would grab your body in astonishment of its existence. Screaming for me to touch it. Love it. Kiss me. Hard. And you would. And we would, play. Laugh. Feel. Grow. Become, one flowing unit of constant embracement. Everything is perfect here and I never want to leave this place. Can we not grow up here? Grow old? Grow fine and grow molds, of the rest of our life? From this.
This is the perfect state of existence...
In your arms.
I ******* miss that.

But its not even you anymore. Whatever part of us that had this is slowly fading, and it's tearing apart my deepest scars. For now, what are they for?
My resentment to love has a firey core.

*And its ashes are on your lips.