Different from Yesterday

I count the stars when the sky is empty, since I know somewhere beyond that obscurity is where you reside.

Photos by Karoline Grabowska from Pexels.

I miss you only when I’m lonely, so surely this is not love. Your warmth is no longer something I can easily remember. The memory of your voice fades but your face doesn’t. Am I shallow to be enchanted by a good lock, still encapsulated by a touch of childhood’s purity? Or am I shallow for desiring someone’s presence when my heart don’t particularly beat for them consistently?

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