The headlights shine through my bedroom window, waking me. For a spare moment my heart stops and I think, 'it's her.' But then the headlights pull away and I realize it's just my roommate leaving for the day, He goes to bible study at 6 am on Thursday. Maybe I should start going with him. I can't help but chuckle aloud as I think, 'baby, you need Jesus.' I need something, I've talked to Jesus, I've talked to God, I've even talked to Mother Earth but it's apparent that this is one of those things that only I can help myself with. Heartache is a fickle thing. A wonderful thing.
Sometimes I feel as if I enjoy the pain. I mean it's better to love and lost, than not have loved at all, right? ...Right? By letting go of the pain I feel like I would be letting go of love...of her. And friends, family, and even the animals that I pretended to talk to all said the same thing: let her go.
But that stubborn Irish blood runs through my vains and it's pulling every live cell inside me to not let her go. Why? I have no idea. Except for a few stolen kisses i have nothing to tie me to her. But those kisses lull me to sleep every night as I Imagine her body wrapped around mine and I...I am so lost within her in the most blissful way. Yet when I wake I am without her, as always, and I know that I will forever be without her.
Yet that doesn't stop my imagination from running rampant, it plays cruel tricks on my loins, coaxing me into imaginary sex. Thighs wrapped around me, around her. Arms entangled, lips enmeshed, sexes...hot.
BUT... I'm awake, and though images still play inside, they are fading. Much like my sanity.
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Submitted by:
alwayswanting
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