lonely
dashboard heart.
I have no fear for the joy of love. I hold no fear for the pain of losing, although, I feel acutely the loss, the dark purple grief of lonely.
Lonely.
Lonely heart.
Litter, trash, paper, blows past in a rush of the wind.
Voices snatched and carried on the chilly autumn breeze as if they have somewhere important in the night to go. They don't, they will get lost in the Mecca of city streets, down dark alleys and lonely avenues filled with the emptiness of closed doors and locked windows, where the voices are dispelled and disbanded like the rest of the dirty city street litter.
Lonely.
When I hear foot steps in the night, I let my heart believe, eyes pressed shut against the dark. When I believe, I think I see his frame silhouetted against my door jam, hear his breath exhaling, hands in the pockets of his oversized sweatshirt, looking at me. When I imagine all these things, I feel as if he should, as if he will, climb the barrier between us, be it miles, or fires or walls or agreements not to love each other anymore, and come and sit heavy on the edge of my bed, whisper into the dark my name, with a smile, and then slowly, ever so gently, slip into bed beside me, under the touch of cotton sheets, take me into his arms and hold me tight to him and then.. he softly kisses me. And I am home.
Lonely.
Because I know this only lives in the deep and elegantly-still, echoes of my mind. There are no more late night kisses. No more sweet good morning hellos.
Lonely is the heart that knows this.
Lonely heart.
My heart.
Tonight.
I have no fear for the joy of love. I hold no fear for the pain of losing, although, I feel acutely the loss, the dark purple grief of lonely.
Lonely.
Lonely heart.
Litter, trash, paper, blows past in a rush of the wind.
Voices snatched and carried on the chilly autumn breeze as if they have somewhere important in the night to go. They don't, they will get lost in the Mecca of city streets, down dark alleys and lonely avenues filled with the emptiness of closed doors and locked windows, where the voices are dispelled and disbanded like the rest of the dirty city street litter.
Lonely.
When I hear foot steps in the night, I let my heart believe, eyes pressed shut against the dark. When I believe, I think I see his frame silhouetted against my door jam, hear his breath exhaling, hands in the pockets of his oversized sweatshirt, looking at me. When I imagine all these things, I feel as if he should, as if he will, climb the barrier between us, be it miles, or fires or walls or agreements not to love each other anymore, and come and sit heavy on the edge of my bed, whisper into the dark my name, with a smile, and then slowly, ever so gently, slip into bed beside me, under the touch of cotton sheets, take me into his arms and hold me tight to him and then.. he softly kisses me. And I am home.
Lonely.
Because I know this only lives in the deep and elegantly-still, echoes of my mind. There are no more late night kisses. No more sweet good morning hellos.
Lonely is the heart that knows this.
Lonely heart.
My heart.
Tonight.
