At night, when all is visible is the most intimate, and the most bright.
The blue curtains on the windows, turn to inky darkness, and I can’t distinguish between the two most intimate sounds. One of heartbeat, and the other of the fan blades. In between, my breaths seem to float into oblivion.
This sensitivity to everything that moves, but numbness to everything that is.
Its not just about missing you. Being alone, sometimes brings out the darkest sides of me. Not that I fight them. But sometimes, just the viscosity of my own feelings, chokes me.
