What I cannot tough, remains a memory, I am blinded by an imagined light. A remembrance of what can never be

What I cannot touch, remains a memory. I am blinded by an imagined light. A remembrance of what can never be.

You and I
Again and again
Always almost
Never enough.

- A world of almosts

What no one ever told me was that sometimes ‘time’ only adds layers to the wounds and if you scratch off the dust years later, you will still find him in your blood and flesh, residing in a vacant house that you thought had no tenants.
Time.
They never said that time only teaches us regrets.

Love and being in love are not the same thing. The woman takes the man she loves into her body and absorbs his oils and essence. A part of him enters her and becomes a part of her.

If you were to love, love not for the lust that you yearn but the rather the pain that you earn with it.