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Start writing, it says.
Start writing.
In writing, keep dreaming.
Keep dreaming.
Of sunsets long gone,
Of swallowed whispers, Stolen glances.
Of seeds planted,
With never a touch of sunlight
To caress petals unborn.
Never a golden spark
Blown gently by forlorn sighs
Into a wild, ravenous inferno.
Even stars don’t shine forever.
Only an ache fills the void.
An endless ache that swells
With no mercy,
Crushing all beneath the depths
Of what could not be.
What if’s and probable nothings
Painting punishment,
In slow, thoughtful strokes
On the tortured canvas of soul
Left wanting.
Wanting.
Lazy walks in moonlit forests
On hot summer nights.
Wanting.
To see you undress me with your eyes.
To my core. Without a word.
Candlelight reflecting the mischief
In your mind.
Wanting.
How we feel
Joined.
If only I could know
What you would do.
The best stories are never written.
Pen and page.
The only place we ever meet.
Start writing, it says.
While I’m dreaming.
Of you.
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Lovely read
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