The heart weeps, missing you.
All the gods seem to be pleased with this ill arrangement.
Five days without seeing you entirely,
How my heart mourns.
They sing with lyre and lute,
Taunting on how my lack of abiding
Got them making decisions themselves.
An eerie predicament with a taste
Of what future punishments can be.
They sing, they boast
"You are not the one in control."
They laugh at the cruelty of this grief;
So momentarily eternal as sunrises turn
But time broadens to vitalize misery
To long as though addicted to your presence
Gentle hands graze my skin.
Gentle arms wrap around me.
Gentle kisses placed on my cheek.
But none of them are yours.
Only people that try to fill the void.
People who I pull by the wrist
And wrap my arms around
Treating them as I'd treat you
If Guilt didn't reside in my ear
"How I miss you," I write to you.
This amuses you.
But you never say it back.
How this bugs me
For I seem to be the only one
Who so openly admits what they feel.
Or so this feels like that.
How selfish.
How selfish am I?
"There was this void in me—"
"Don't—"
Don't.
YOU ARE READING
DOS GARDENIAS PARA TI
Romancethots (thoughts) written by me, for me, dedicated to me
