For If I Need To See Your Face

I was agonizingly lost when I met you that pivotal day last September. At first, it was all so supernatural, that I overlooked I gathered be adding extra bolts to the chains around my secured heart. There was a prompt adhesiveness, an undeniable soul association that weathered down my delicate questions. I was flummoxed at the rate at which our fondness developed. However, I do know, It was through words we both talked that I turned into yours in adoration and chuckling. Also, you stayed, for most of December, floated, returned, left once more, each time promising until the end of time. Your falsehoods relentlessly expanding in surprising weakening accuracy.

At that point came spring, and it changed everything. Which makes me wish I could at present recollect the last occasion we spent together. In any case, this has turned into the section I generally overlook. Overlooked lines everlastingly connected to our tasted time everlasting. Maybe we weren't living both of our realities, possibly we were simply fucking written work a book. Be that as it may, I decline to flip through its yellowed pages. I don't set out stroke its calfskin. For on the off chance that I have to see your stunning face of light sprinkled with lovely haziness, it's there, marginally distant, past skylines on holy grounds I implored.