Of all the consequences
wrapped up by desire or the perfection we all dearly seek
how are we to know there wasn't somthing before?
A conspirital cover-up of a life once held.
Now lost.
I would never complain,
or shout out so loud that goddesses would stir from sleep,
but the knowledge might put something to rest;
an ache.
A longing.
Something undiscovered in my self that I must believe lies dormant;
sleeping.
Can you be miss someone when they are right beside you?
A former body perhaps,
something replaced by time or experience,
changed by companionship.
Desire lost in familiarity
Author notes
a rant, put into lines... tried to help it make sense.
do you ever just need to write soemthing... anything to make the thoughts in your head follow a direct line?
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