prompt: Aching for a love that you never quite got a grip of, and you're learning you were probably never meant to have itMature

It is Christmas Eve and there is no snow outside on the trees,
unlike last year and the year before that and the one before that.
It is raining and the trees are bending to accommodate the wind
and all I can think about is you, your mouth like a magnet, your
hands like the only two warm things I’ve ever known in my life.
And it doesn’t matter that there are no footprints leading me to you
and it doesn’t matter that you wouldn’t be out there waiting for me anyway.
I slip out through the back and smoke a joint out in the woods,
the clouds of my breath the only evidence of life, and I wish I had faith
that I’d hear your boots crunching through the detritus behind me.

The End

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