I miss the days where falling inlove was a symphony my mind drifted off to, the days where my dreams strived off of a warm touch, or gentle fingers seeping through my hair.
I dread the present I wake into, the distained curl of my lip at thought of close proximity to a ‘lover’ of my pick.
Because what’s to ensure the avoidance of betrayal? Ensure loyalty? Ensure the safety of my heart?
No more than a couple of corrupted words a blind heart lurches for.
I miss the days I fell asleep to the rasp of your voice, praying to never forget its lightness, and true to what they say, be aware of what you pray for.