Words.

here i lounge, 

at 3.06 in the morning,

looking at our conversation,

from later that evening.

here i lounge,

thinking of you,

hoping you're sleeping well,

unlike me, wide awake.

at the most unusual time,

i lay on my bed,

laptop on top, 

warming my skin,

writing this,

 to release the longing.

who do i long for,

may you ask?

could you be more oblivious?

you, and only you.

i will call you,

like i promised.

i apologize,

for ignoring,

for neglecting.

my worst enemy is myself,

my hands afraid to type,

my voice afraid to speak, 

my mind afraid of thinking.

because it is you, 

who caused the heart pounding,

the gut twisting,

the butterflies that settled in my stomach.

but it is unfortunate,

that even my own writing,

makes me want to bring up my dinner,

to throw up.

i'm getting tired of writing.

adios bitchachos.