Late night conversations, back when we needed each other more than we needed sleep.
There are many images which remain undeveloped.
We’d lay together, but not with each other. I would hang on every word you said, asking question after question just to make sure you didn’t stop talking. I wanted to hear your dreams to see if they felt the same as mine, and I wanted to know your fears so that I could offer you a cure.
You’ll never forget me, but I wanted to make sure.
I just wanted those moments. Those moments with you made me feel incredible. Those moments gave me hope and inspiration, and they still keep me going. I just don’t know whether that’s a good thing or not. I don’t know what to do about it. I’m trying not to think about it but it’s there as soon as I try to write.
Everybody else wants to be written about.
I didn’t expect anything, but I wanted too much. You occupied my mind. I got too used to you being here and I accidentally held you prisoner in here with me. Maybe we should have just stuck to visits of the conjugal kind.
The door is closed, and I’m not sure my key fits the lock. Is it even locked? I just stare at that door, wondering.
The best stories come from the things that never stood a chance.