I'm waiting for the "I'm coming home to you" and not just "See you next time" type of things.
I'm waiting on "let's go to bed" and not just "waking up without you every day" type of things.
You see, I've been waiting on someone that I could build with, someone I can see my future with.
Not just some, passing time type of thing.
But, you're the type I want to come home to and see everyday. You're the type, I want to cuddle with every night.
You're the type of thing, I love to like.
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Muted
Cold tears, shivers down my spine, uncontrollable shaking, silent screams. These are my symptoms. I forget how to breathe and how to live. I become reliant on one person because I know they're my drug. They're my safe zone, my home. The slight whispers in your voice remind me that I'm not alone and that I'm stronger than those voices in my head.
By Emilee Rivera12 months ago in Poets
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The difference between light and dark could be as quick and simple as a flip of a switch, the drawing of a curtain, the opening of one’s eyes. It could be more gradual like the slow adjustment of the diaphragm on a microscope, the turn of a planet on its axis, the growing light as you approach the end of a tunnel. A flicker in the dark, a steady glow in the distance, a flash in the night sky.
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