That faint smell of yours, lingering in the cold fibres of my linen. The empty side of a double bed, wrinkled and unmade. Each time it’s the same routine, as one of us leaves the other behind. Each time I feel more alone than before, helpless and heartbroken.

I want to bring snacks by your workplace when you message me that you are hungry. Drop by your house spontaneously and unannounced. I want to be greedy without feeling bad. Pour my desires onto you without being a burden.

We work towards our tomorrow. A tomorrow that means being with each other for more than a week. Waking up next to each other without thinking of having one less night left. A non-scheduled, non-restrained us.

2 thoughts on “Tomorrow

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