it was like every minute i was falling deeper into a hole that im told leads to hell but instead leads to us
every time a thought passes my ****** mind i can always hear his name; it ******* ***** that he doesn't know that
and i pray on every 11:11 that those thoughts will become quiet words that nobody else would be able to hear
and all i can look forward to is the warmth of his back and his oddly cold hands that ill touch one day
and i look forward to the temporary tattoos written out in letters only we can understand
but i mostly look forward to his texts becoming a quiet voice, too

ill waste all the ink of my pen over him until then
every last drop