(no subject)
I always did love the feeling of warmth on my lips, speaking so close to your mouth and feeling my own breath radiate back to me. Something awkward, but still so at home... like standing in the yard of a house you haven't lived in for years. I get haircuts and imagine you're touching my head. I walk with friends and imagine you're bumping my hand, playfully wondering if I'll take yours. I fall asleep at night, and hope you're happy, though my dreams may play to any number of contrary hypotheses. Closer to me... further away... slipping into memory's twilight, and disappearing as you should. I can't carry you forever, although I will.