I play on the notion that there’s a possibility something more can be created. Something more can be given. Something else can be tasted. Call me a fool for falling for my lover, it phases me none. The only thing we ever want to accomplish is to feel alive, to feel that gust of wind beneath us taking us higher and higher, to the point that fear no longer exist. Some find those thrills or that excitement,that adrenaline rush through other ways. I found it intertwined in conversations, sheets and my favorite cognac with you and underneath you I️ can close my eyes and feel the world begin to take form. That rush, the sensation of urgency is a high in its own right. Maybe I’ve romanticized you to the point you are without flaws, but what is the point of writing these love letters to you if I️ don’t get to glorify all that you are? What joy is it to have a lover so divine and not be able to express it? I️ want you in ways that I️ shouldn’t because there are ways that I️ would give myself that you wouldn’t, but it’s a quarter after six in the morning and I’ve been sleeping with thoughts of you all night.
Just another sleepless night.