I miss my words.
I miss using them in a context of metaphors that made peoples heads hurt.
I make my head hurt.
I miss my words.
I miss my hearing.
I miss my vision but I'm to spaced thinking about your hands and how they easily grabbed mine and your lips ever so gently whispered sweet nothings on mine.
I squeeze your hand but I looked down....
Yours is replaced by him and only half the man.
He asked what's wrong?
I just wish for once someone will ask me what's right.
~T