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To nobody in particular.

The cold sheets, empty next to you draws reminder of the loneliness you try to often to escape. You tell the lie "I'm fine" but your face gives you away. You have these lines in the way you smile that speak a story in themselves though you hide them with makeup. You trace your lips remembering last nights kiss but to them you're just another home left on the bed when they snuck out. Tip toeing not to wake you up. What is love? Is it the feeling before the touch or the breath before the brush of the fingertips on your bra just before your skin. When you're on fire and you'd give anything to feel them within. What is love? Is it moments like this when you sit naked to the world baring your soul to nobody in particular for you're always alone yet the tears won't stop because you can't stop giving into temptation. What is love? Love is a thing you don't yet know though you've seen it on the screens. Love is warmth in your gut, the lump in your throat and the butterflies in your stomach. You yearn for a chance to be loved... You're used and thrown away like old napkins. You hold onto the idea of a picture perfect day, Yet here you stay. Naked, bearing your soul...To nobody in particular.




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