The Phantom of You.

Dear you,
I still miss you.
Or rather I miss the idea of you.
The what if of us.
I have scars from the words you told me.
Remains of what I tried to carve out.
A constant reminder of the us that never was.
I have bruises from where you held me.
Marks of being wanted.
Created in the shadows by us.
I have this uneasiness hanging over me.
This fear of your words, too pretty to be true.
I will forget your breath on my neck.
And the touch of your fingers on my ribs.
But darling, tell me this,
how am I to forget the warmth of words breathed out in the dark?
If we are Ash, am I too no more?

Falsely Yours,
Me.

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Wonderwall. Reflections of the socially awkward photographer.

Wonderwall: Someone you can’t stop thinking about,someone you are infatuated with.

Here I am, thinking of you and I don’t even know your name.
All I wanted was something forbidden.
And there you were, sitting on the footpath, in a black fitting Tshirt,
A lit cigarette casually held between the fingers.
Eyes met. We spoke.
My mind went a little blank.
It was those stupid cheek bones.
All I wanted was to take a picture of that moment.
And then some more.
Those light hazel eyes had me captivated.
But I didn’t know what to say.
So I walked away.
And now you’re on my mind.

I just wanted to be behind a lens with you on the other side.
Somehow the moment passed.
And now here I am,
trying to capture in words the image that I couldn’t.
I loathe this feeling of resignation.
This utter helplessness.
And now you’re on my mind.

There’s nothing I can do.
Fifteen minutes of acquaintance.
Four days of wishing it better spent.
You’re still on my mind.

One picture.
And you wouldn’t be on my mind.

Why are you still on my mind?