10 August 2012
I'm sick to death of writing about how much I miss you when you will never read it. these spaces seem too big between my words now, eyes close for so much longer than a blink. parts of you float before me, on my night time wall. you never were a whole, I only ever saw your positives. your hands rolling, your lips smiling, your back your chest your eyes.
we would fumble and fall over each other, lie laughing at the bottom. you stretch your hands skyward, call it an escape attempt. I'm scaling the walls, just to be nearer the sun.
you seem small, far away. a long lost fish in a see of despair.
I'm stuck part way up, torn between summer days in hazy warm light, or lying there with you, barley even straining.
rock climbing • Opuss № I