Image of her, How i imagine.


​​Some days I miss her,
But I’d never tell her this. 
Because you know what it is that I really do miss? 

I miss only my thoughts about what it is that she is. 

And the curve of her waist, the distort of her lips. 
And at the end of the day the only thought left is this…

I can tolerate this, 

Because I don’t really want what she really is.
When I see her photograph. It’s nothing personal. Just life.

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Image of her, How i imagine.