Day 137

I cannot count it, the many hopeless nights when my shadow searched for yours. You thought to punish me, by removing yourself, leaving me filled with this, an insatiable hunger for absolution. I would burn away the world, to feel your lips passionately pressed against mine. And, so, I remain frozen, in footsteps untaken … our footsteps. And I ask myself, was that Dangerous Angel real? Then I feel a familiar ache, the ache of scars not quite healed. And I tell myself the purpose of scars: to remind us that the past was, indeed, real.