The night
is still young. In the middle of all these paperwork, the brain is present
while the mind is not. It occasionally wanders, virtually flies, fueled by the wish
of seeing you. I miss you like a handshake, dear. It radiates the spectrum of warmness,
intimation, as well as it is familiar. Like a fresh toast in the morning when
you already sipped your cup of coffee. Or specifically like a laugh – yours –
which puts the odd mixture of amusement, affection, and anxiety along my spine.
Dearie, have love ever shrouded you so greatly; all you’re thinking of is how to love?
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