The Lost One Longing

I was missing him, but as I looked at his picture I couldn’t quite remember who it really was that I was missing.

He was straying.

I saw his shoulders, broad and strong, but had little recollection of how they felt around me.

He was fading.

His molten stubble, between my thighs, glimpses of the last time flashed through my mind.

He was leaving.

With his hair pushed back and his molten, chocolate eyes; the thought of them could have burned a hole in my mind.

Within an instant, I started to relive it; a sweet slumber turned into an abrupt awakening.

He kissed me goodnight, to then be goodbye.

He, me, it was all starting to dissipate.

I couldn’t remember his smell, his kiss or even the feeling of his fingers wrapped in mine.

I had been longing for him so long, but I no longer knew who I was longing for.

He was gone.


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