" longing "
do you think of me in the early hours of the morning when sleep avoids you when the skies are still dusted with stars, the sun just escaping its slumber when the moon glows brightly like a beacon in the depths of darkness, a soothing spectre
do you look at me and see something, something notable, something like a spark of life that lights the flame in the eyes of others
do you see my hands and wonder where they became scratched, callused, and wounded and have this drive to soothe the ache made from a lifetime of labor as if it could ease the ache from my eyes
do you see me like how I see you?










