I miss you right now and I cannot do anything about it.
I finally said it.
You are not mine and I know that you will never be mine but I am hanging on to the false hope that no matter how illusory this may seem, we could get the most out of what we have. You are so intangible that I already have you so near and so reachable and yet, I can feel you slip through me, slapping me in the face with the reality that I can never ever touch you with the fabric of my skin.
You are my favourite dream.
A dream that is unattainable and yet I’d be ever so willing to sleep a day full of opportunities just so I could hold you and keep you within the warmth of my longing embrace. In my dreams, I can have you. Through my dreams, I can touch you and hold you and tell you that I love you without having to worry about the dire consequences my ever so erratic feelings could plague us with.
Do you know the reason as to why I write things about you?
Here’s why: WISHFUL THINKING
That first time I wrote something unimaginably honest about you on my creative journal, I felt you. I let the words flow like river from the core of my mind down to the hinges between my fingers. It was like having the words carry my feelings and then magically turning these words in to impulses that would then bring you closer to me. I cannot further explain as to how this works but the main reason as to why I am writing this piece right now is because I want you to feel me. Every word, every phrase, every sentence that I would state, I want them all to call out to you. I want you to hear me through the music the winds only likeminded people share.
I want you to feel me.
I want you to feel.
I WANT YOU TO.
I don’t know if we’ll survive this world in one piece but what I know right now is that I don’t ever want to draw myself farther from where you are. I may never have the chance in this lifetime to call you mine, but as long as I have the power to keep you, I swear I’ll never let this go. I’ll keep on writing, no matter how foolish, no matter how senseless, my proses maybe
‘Cause it makes me hold on to that false belief that through my writing… You can actually feel me.