she craves to be wanted.
(Craves to be needed,desired, like how he used to live for her almost.)
And, you see,
Things aren’t how they used to be anymore
and she’s missing him.
And he’s missing her.
But there’s not much they can do about it, now.
Never was much of anything they could do about it,really.
But she used to feel his need in the words he used to speak,
or type, if she’s honest, she doesn’t understand her aching need for a man
that has never held her,
whose words have only wrapped her into love-
a present to be unwrapped a year or so from now…
(A year or so from now, once they've both gotten out.)
And what is 'now' but just another relative term?
What is sleep but slowly dying, out of your lover’s reach?
What is hope but a shepherd’s staff leading the lost blindly to pasture?
And what is love?
What is love,darling, what is love?
I thought I knew, I thought I knew,
but seems as though I don’t know anything anymore…
I don’t begrudge you your life,
nor your sleep or your silent strife,
I just begrudge the things you make me feel without meaning to,
the way that even the simplest words live under my skin
and make me vulnerable to your every whim…
Make me aware, so very aware of the fact that you don’t seem to want me anymore-
and I know I’m only being silly…
I know that you’d give anything to be holding me,
waking up to me, once we progress that far,
but knowing isn’t the same as feeling, darling,
and I only have one question living under my skin-
What is your love?