Aug 4
It’s 11:11 and I’m imaging you by my side. It’s late and yet I stay awake, memorising your face for the day the world ends.
I’m terrified, because I made this up in my head. Our hands never touch, your fingers never glide down my neck. Kisses of air. But I can not go to bed, to sleep, to home. What if tomorrows different, and you see me. They see me.
How can I digest what I never swallowed? would my stomach recognise the affection? Or would I throw it up, my stomach hungry and yearning for your lips again. For now I kiss up to the heavens, it’s 11:11, and the stars comfort me with the knowledge that they carry you inside them.
I’m terrified, because I made this up in my head. Our hands never touch, your fingers never glide down my neck. Kisses of air. But I can not go to bed, to sleep, to home. What if tomorrows different, and you see me. They see me.
How can I digest what I never swallowed? would my stomach recognise the affection? Or would I throw it up, my stomach hungry and yearning for your lips again. For now I kiss up to the heavens, it’s 11:11, and the stars comfort me with the knowledge that they carry you inside them.
