We ask so little of life. A reassuring smile, the touch of a hand, a kiss on the cheek. Yet all we see is pain, discomfort, and the chain of obligation. It’s not like we haven’t been trialed before, judged for our sins and free spirits. Sentenced, condemned, and hung for simply surviving. We’d cry in our pillows, if allowed such luxury. Instead we smile, tell our silly quips, and plow through the rocky clay.
But our thick skin grows thin. Strong arms give way to loose flesh and bone. Fear overtakes our mind, with the cries of how much more. I so want the give encouraging words, but the black ink of pain covers me. To taste those sweet lips again, to actually hold you like we used too. These are the things I cling to, the dreams I still dream. Broken, cursed to live this half-lived existence. Dreaming of a void of just you and I.