The Earth is drenched almost sole… yet my desert is dry. What kind of nature is named mothe… that lets deserts die.
Your face eludes me yet it’s the first thing I see. My daily mirage.
I keep these gifts you gave me to haunt myself with your ghost. Your scent long since faded. Your face somewhat a blur. You are nothing but a memory.
We had one night. One night free of inhibitions. One night of disregard for others. Our minds connected in deep conver… My hand brushed shoulder.
