On night like tonight, in between the fire and the January cold outside, I cannot help but miss what you used to say to me. Not the words, no it was never about the words. It was what you understood, what I never said. Like my silence right before I went to bed. It was how you exactly knew how I felt.
I wish you hadn’t, I wish you didn’t. Because that is what I search for, in every stranger who crosses my path.
Will I ever stop looking for your face in the rain, after the facades have been washed away? I wish you were cruel, wish you were a monster, a sordid ghoul. Or a dream that I can’t remember after I woke. Or Cinderella’s carriage after the midnight stroke.
But you were not. But you are not.
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