Stories

Why do I tell your story over and over again?
A sweet addiction to the past.
I remember I door I once seen, so large and mysterious. Carved of stone and hidden in a cave. I curled up and slept at it's feet. I was drawn to what I couldn't enter. This secret place only I knew of despite how I wished I would be found. Not by anyone but the one. The lines between dreams and life fade and the door opened to only light. How empty fulfillment felt was the only feeling I was left with, and a teeming to return to the days when I felt young and curious next to my beloved mystery.

There are dozens of times I felt this need to return to what felt good and made me feel held by my life. Not thrown from the nest with wind and uncertainty beneath my feet with a quiver in my lungs and heart that hold me away from such deep sleep. Even when we hurt each other, no matter how small we always felt it. I hate to admit how I miss every bit, but I am so tired. I could never return.