Days

on some days, it is sleep and booze; the unconsciousness and unawareness — a saving grace from a destructive reality.

on other days, it is you. it is the warmth of your breath sending tingles of pleasure and comfort throughout my whole being. it is the feeling of your eyes on me when it seems that i am oblivious. it is simply your existence — and your presence.

on most days, it is loving you. it is the sadness that pools in my chest as the realization of not being with you strikes me. it is the hollow ache that attacks with the imagery of your heart wrapped around someone else's. it is the lonely sensation felt when you found safety in someone else —  when i had constantly found it in you.

but each day, it is getting lost. it is the conflict of letting go and giving up when i had gone so far. it is the trouble of waiting or finding you in another. it is convincing my mind and soul that i am content and satisfied, loved and loving, joyful and ecstatic, without romance embedded into my life. it is the painful realizations of terrible habits formed from my childhood that had affected the present. it is the frequent lies told to myself — and the piercing truths that i cannot rid of.