You should've said it by now.
That I wasn't imagining things. That we shared the same yearning.
These past few days, I haven't been myself. You were always the anchor to my ship, and now that I think you've been misplaced, I can no longer abide my sails.
I rouse during cockcrow feeling a lot less whom I'm supposed to be. My legs used to take me to places in my morning run. The hot showers used to soothe my goosey mind. The coffee on the table used to taste better than delish wine.
And it derails everything else throughout the day – I'm out of habit, out of composure, out of hope.
When I attempt any sort of distraction, I'm only taken back to the stagnant waters, to where I remain motionless without your solace.
I suffer in the day only to endure much, much more at night. In my dreams, it's always you and me, and I scrabble everytime to wake up before I get too haunted by some daunting tragedy.
Still, I wish you could prove me wrong. I wish you would tell me that it was really me all along.
It's like I'm helplessly gripping a rope I can't even feel. It's like I'm holding on to something that isn't real.
But in my dire despond of trying to lose faith in you, I find it crystal clear that all my heart desires is you.