I want to hold her in my arms until she forgets what loneliness feels like.
I want to hold her like the lonely autumn trees hold the fragility of clinging leaves.
The traces of her lips on my skin reach deep inside my soul and transform a broken house into a home.
The weather hasn’t been the same ever since the sun decided to impersonate the warmth of her aura.
It doesn't matter which book I'm reading; her body is the scripture that my hands believe in.