Counting down the hours till I see your face again; till I touch your skin and feel your tender lips against mine.
Believe me, it is one heck of a long wait.
at the crystal moon, at the red branch
of the slow autumn at my window,
if I touch
near the fire
the impalpable ash
or the wrinkled body of the log,
everything carries me to you,
as if everything that exists,
aromas, light, metals,
were little boats
toward those isles of yours that wait for me.” —Pablo Neruda
What else can I possibly do except wait for you to be back? Just as well, if absence does make the heart fonder, as they say.
I can’t get mad at you for anything; you already know I loved you since we met 2 years ago, and I guess everything there is today is my fault in one way or another.
But if you can believe it, we have a good thing going, and I don’t ever want it to stop, kiddo, and the key word here’s “ever”.
Just so you know.
hmm…I wonder… :D