I lie on my bed, staring out the window that point towards the endless sky. The clouds are shape shifting butterflies of cotton candy that are just outside my reach. I wonder if you are watching the same sky from where you are? Or somehow in the two hours distance between us, the sky has become a parallel universe where we aren't love but hate. The theory of Possibilities. They are infinite.
My fingers gingerly brush against my parted lips. You are my diacetylmorphine and I'm the homeless prostitute that's desperate for another high. It has only been a couple of days but I already miss you. The way your blue eyes sparkle with mischief. The softness of your fingers as they dance up and down my thighs. The warmth of your hand as you grasp the back of my neck. The heat of your breath on the bare of my skin.
I have an addiction. I crave the scent of your skin that lingers in my hair. I hunger for the embrace of your warmth to surround my body. My heart are astronauts perpetually somersaulting through air. They drop to the pit of my stomach and lunges back into my chest. I am short of breath. I need to breathe. And you are my only oxygen mask.
Dear, I need you.
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