my heart is continuously transitioning from an icy blue to a happier and fuller sister of red: yellow.
not just any old yellow, but the one that makes your heart rate steady; the soft one. the yellow that lays you down in a field of luscious pink flowers beneath a baby blue sky sprinkled with dusty white cotton ball clouds. she may have even packed a picnic of painfully sweet fruits and a bottle of crisp rosé bubbly. she's the yellow that smells of warm, clean air, and is comfortably cold in your lungs as you gently inhale the heavens, and exhale the weight of the world.
the yellow that feels familiar in all sorts of ways, but you cant quite tell what it is. she can wrap you in her arms as you cry, wiping away the salty stains left by twofold tears as they fell from your harp strings of eyelashes.
come, place your hand over my heart and let me transfer waves of my color to you.

my feet are the brains of this chase
numb and blistered and calloused and bleeding
the skin on my shoe-less heels ran raw
made visible to brandish my journey
from one end of your heart to the other

douse me in gasoline,
the liquid to fuel my passion.
strike a match upon my skin,
ignite the flame that was once within me.
warm me up,
feeling cold is getting old.

should you be there, dreaming of me too,
i hope youre dreaming of the soft clouds of kisses we shared
and the sweet perfume of my nervousness.
i hope youre dreaming of the moments where it was just us two,
the surrounding world drowned out by the beating of our hearts and dull whispers of unwritten love stories.
should you be there, dreaming of me too,
i hope youre dreaming of the electrifying touch of our fingers, hands, minds, and souls.
i hope youre dreaming of the comfort and safety we found in one another, feeling at home as long as we were together.

my hand trails the surface
of the empty spot in my bed,
aching for your chest to be beneath my touch.
my fingers clench the sheet,
making it crumple the same way your t-shirt would.
my hand floats to the pillow <your cheek>
not letting my fingertips escape the flow of movement
up the bed <your collarbone, your neck>
my thumb grazes the corner of the pillow
and i cant help but mistake it for your jaw.
gently caressing the lump of manufactured cotton,
i can see you looking down at me with those sleepy eyes
which i do so adore.
my leg finds its way around my body pillow <your leg>
and they <we>  are entangled.
imitating warmth and comfort
and making up for the what-could-have-beens,
my bedside knows only the truth of my loneliness.
christmas lights gleaming at the sight of my yearning
like smiles from sad stars.
the clock on my nightstand ticks and tocks,
reminding me of missed opportunities and wasted time.
the ceiling fan wizzes away each sigh of desperation.