When I long for eyes to get lost in,
                                                          I still think of yours.

So full of passion. We haven't made eye contact in a while, but the goosebumps I got when I held your gaze are still fresh on my skin.
                                                         You left traces of your intensity inside of me.

When I long for excitement,
                                                     ­    I still think of your lips.

Perfectly arranged words slipped effortlessly from your mouth, straight to my ears. Your lips paved the way to whatever you wanted, although we both needed it. You kissed me as if I were the last ounce of oxygen left in your atmosphere. (I was, for not quite long enough.) You approached me with the power of a ferocious storm, the beauty of a calm sea. Gentle, yet forceful. How can that be?

                                                       You left traces of your intensity inside of me.

When I long for a reason to love my future,

                                                        I still think of (y)our past.

The good; the bad. At least I took part in it. I've been holding on to a foolish daydream of sparks igniting once more.
                                                      You left traces of your intensity inside of me.