I paint pictures of you, on paper instead of canvas.
I paint you in words.
They flow beautifully through my mind and onto paper. In the exact same way you float through my dreams.
Effortlessly, like when you wrap your arms around me and kiss my forehead.
The words I paint, don’t make me dizzy like your touch does. And they don’t make me feel at home the way you do.
They do leave me reaching into darkness.
Coming out with an empty grasp and an even emptier heart.
You’re just far enough out of reach, that I can’t get to you.
I can hear your voice, like birds in the early morning.
All at once.
And even though it’s a beautiful sound, it’s almost maddening.
Then suddenly everything goes to darkness.
The same darkness you’ve spoken of a thousand times.
You say I should fear it.
But really it’s the one thing I find comfort in.
I could sit alone for days. But only if I’m in your arms in the end.
Because the deafening silence that comes with your dark, drives me mad.
In the end, I’m satisfied with one night.
Hidden away.
Kept as a secret.
Stolen moments that are never guaranteed.
But I live for them.
The mere hours I get to spend with you, are worth the loneliness of your darkness.
You’re worth the terror you’ve caused.