They moved along the expanse of my back, Nipping my skin here and there. No matter how hard I tried it happens each night. Wait, I was talking about those "Bed Bugs". What'd you think?
The bed is empty again. Warmth settles in the void now reclaimed by neatly tucked sheet corners and a fading memory in the mattress. A wayward dream of soft snores begging to come true
One pillow recovering from a restless night, the other frozen like marble. Too foreign to be disturbed. Too real to be dismissed. Too distant to be admired
Explorers of the tundras. Wanderers of a higher purpose, Bearing the throes of a million winters, Carrying the flame as the others retreated within their burrows.
In darkness we see no night.
Deep within nature's deadfall lies another sunrise, Another day in search of a memory.
when the Tuscan sunlight trickled through the blinds, pouring gold specks into the room and your light hums reverberated into my ear as we laid in tangled sheets it dawned on me that home was never a place — home was a person. this is it, i thought this is home.
