2 weeks it's been since your skin on mine hand in my hair, fingers round my neck. a fortnight young memory, rapidly ageing it appears to me that there is no end in sight. too young to travel, too young to defy. all too much aching for me to survive. to crave your touch, your voice and your smile has become the only routinely act these past two weeks. your smell has faded from the clothes you left behind, but my yearning has only begun gradating into light.
agnosticism disregarded i pray for an end to this for two weeks to extend no longer till you're once again in my arms.