Longing

“We can’t… We shouldn’t. This isn’t right.” She says.

“I know. I wish we could have more.” He replies, running his thumbs over her cheeks and looking deeply into her eyes, like he is stripping her soul naked with his gaze. She feels naked. She knows he sees her, really sees what she has become. 

“I can’t be with you, not with all the ghosts that  haunt my thoughts, not with all this guilt that plagues my dreams.” She thinks, but refrains from saying. Instead, she closes her eyes as a tear falls free and leans into his touch, sighing. 

“I can’t change the way I feel, though. It’s too late to even try to not love you,” he says, as if he knows exactly what she is thinking.

“I’m not asking you to,” she says, and she won’t. After all, she knows exactly how it feels. 

“What do you want, then?” He sounds desperate, like he is begging— like a dying man thirsting for a few drops of water. 

He IS begging, he realizes. Neither of them is sure what for. “Tell me. What do you want?” He pleads.

She crashes her lips to his in a searing kiss right then because, of course, like the wolf’s answer to the moon, “It’s you.”

Mosaic-of-the-soul

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