From the moment my eyes locked with yours, I could feel how visceral it would feel to lose you. The air was dense, filled with lust and desire; the possibility of us becoming lovers lingered within these four walls. The haze unveiled as you approached, and time began to slow, gently pushing against the passing of nightfall. A burning hunger danced on my lips as you leaned closer. I could tell you felt the same magnetic pull pushing us together. The tangle of our limbs was the closest I ever felt to home. Or maybe love.
A bit too close to comfort, you always knew how to get under my skin. If I shut my eyes hard enough, I could see the dancing images of stories on your inked skin. The way my initials lay carved in the crook of your arm. Do you still think about me every time your eyes cast upon it because I have been thinking about us? On blurry nights, your embrace wavers over me, and an impulse rises beyond my control to get a part of you inked onto my body. Your initials rising and falling against the beating of my chest. I want to savour you long after my memory betrays me.
Days seem to go by seamlessly of nights full of a seething longing for you. These walls are going undone by the ghost of your existence; it seems like everything is trying to cope with you no longer being around. The atmosphere weighs heavy, thick with a hint of grief and nostalgia settling in all the places we made love in. Hands grazing skin. Echoes of pleasure vibrate off the walls creating a sweet melody as we collide (as one). Living in this disarray, it’s unbearable to think about you so far from home; how happiness is so unreachable. Anguish and desire hang over my weary bones; day by day, I carry the weight of you with every sharp inhale. Maybe home was never a permanent thing like a person or place but rather a feeling that lives inside you.