pig (1/3)

I turned my back, and now I walk away from you. Yet there you stay, passive as ever, passive to a point of no return, wringing your hands and fiddling with the buttons on your shirt; your gaze penetrative and intentions deafening. In my 5D, in my energy. A spectre looming above me as i slumber, tapping on the glass of my window at the dead of night, leaving me to wake up with chills. But where were you when the sun died out? Where were you when the moon waned? The last thing I want is to talk about it, and yet there it is, the elephant in the room, a table adorned with uncomfortable edges that beg to jab at us, the tar that falters every breath. What does it mean to wait? The last thing I want is to put it to one side, pull me into your arms and kiss me, if you want it so badly. Come find me, if you want me so badly, for you always know where I am. Put your hands on my waist, run your fingers through my hair, kiss me firmly and slowly, pull me closer, cannibalise me like you always would, like I begged you to; scream out what exactly you want; for this pathetic whisper, this vague call to action, it is, yet again, too little too late. Do you think that simply being is enough?