I get carried away in my imaginings, there's no end in sight when I hold your hand.
It's a hand of smoke, I'm not that deluded. It's the tangible presence of your absence, the deep gash in me that will not improve or worsen by that coffee (or that night, if I be so bold).
The space in me that seeks you.
The desire to gallop across the plains of your insight, always with a new landscape.
The sheer delight of your laughter, life beaming at itself.
The boundless appetite to commune with you, to partake of all.
Alas...
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