MIA



He floods my inbox with pictures. Pictures that make me smile, that make my heart hurt from aching, pictures that make me laugh out loud at his silliness. I ache to touch him. To see him. To wind myself around him like ivy. To inhale him, to trace his lips with my finger, with my tongue, to feel the stubble of his cheeks, press my finger tips into his dimples.

I have walls and a roof and rooms I haunt. I have a life I wander in, rushing from moment to moment, without pause, pauses lead to contemplation which in turn leads to more ache, more want, more everything.

I miss him. I miss him with an ocean of want, with this barely contained out pouring of emotion that threatens to burst its banks and drown me. Every thought brings me back to this ache, this want, this absolute, the realisation��..

I have no real home without him.

2009-11-24 2:03 p.m.