The Imagined Kiss

When I miss you I don’t know what I miss; I fall asleep to the constantly imagined kiss that we never had. I close my eyes, wrapped by blankets in the dark, and in my hands and pulse and heartbeat feel the spark, like a furnace of stars under my skin, crawling with electric bliss. I breathe desperately, panting, feverish to dismiss these thoughts of you; I cannot break out of this torrent of emotions which reality never has and never will warrant. I fall for you every night and then I fall asleep, and sometimes – if I’m lucky – I have dreams of you that I can never keep. Let me go: if you’re holding me somehow with your light, could you let it dim? Let me break into the darkness, no more thoughts of him in my little head. I want to fall asleep in a world of peace, not a place with no release where I’d rather be dead. Those dreams that we never had, they haunt the back of my eyelids until every thought in my head feels bad; but when I miss you, I don’t even know what it is that I miss.

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