Real yearners know that sometimes love is like being an art enthusiast at a museum touching beautiful things with nothing but our eyes, longing from afar.
January 25, 2025 at 6:51 AM
Real yearners know that sometimes love is like being an art enthusiast at a museum touching beautiful things with nothing but our eyes, longing from afar.
Didn’t call you mine, didn’t have to, didn’t even try. My fingers do their own claiming, every touch a claim of ownership, no matter how soft, how subtle. There’s familiarity in the way I reach for you, my most perfect habit; you never fail to meet me halfway.
December 11, 2024 at 7:53 AM
Didn’t call you mine, didn’t have to, didn’t even try. My fingers do their own claiming, every touch a claim of ownership, no matter how soft, how subtle. There’s familiarity in the way I reach for you, my most perfect habit; you never fail to meet me halfway.