Tuesday, April 26, 2011

The Dissipation of Time

The passing months seem to blow by in a daze. My sense of physical feeling has dismally gone numb, for in your current state of abscence, the touch of no one elses' hands will do. Though we are young at age, I grow ancient each minute that I lack your prescence. It is as though I am laying in my deathbed in solitude, while you are astray experiencing the world, growing, flourishing. You are captivating, in form and in essence. The meere brush of your lips is enough to save me from my impending doom. Such a simple task, but it is devoid of your will to carry it out.  Time is rapidly escaping, an imposing grain of sand teeters on the edge of the hourglass; just one kiss and it shall not plummet with my soul. Just one kiss, one kiss I will never recieve.

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