I wrote this like..Fucking forever ago..and I was unsure what to do with it..but I’m too lazy to write a new post today…so…here have this.

I’ve been missing you for awhile, which is so strange. We’ve never even met, you and I.

But I feel you inside my chest, here next to my lungs…you’ve taken root. I care about you and not hearing from you for so long has gotten to me.

It’s funny, the first time I wrote about you, I held nothing back. Was not afraid to write myself a fool for you. But now, these ink stains on my hands only serve as to remind me how much I want to pull you up to my lips; but cannot.

I miss you, I fear each time I say that, the ink runs a little dryer; and I am one word closer to becoming a crumpled up note carelessly tossed aside. 

I did wrong by you, I know. I won’t try to deny that. And I’m so sorry. I have nothing to offer you, no well spoken speeches, nor softly sealed letters. 

Just this- if you only knew how often I dreamt  about you, I wonder if I could show you how truly much I miss your voice, your eyes…you.

You made me feel so, alive. Pulled this wild wolf straight out of her woods…and as much as that terrified me, I welcomed it. For it gave me this illusion of maybe someday you would be there too.

Maybe you will…at least…that’s what I hope.