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longing

like a sentence with a missing word searching for something that is no longer there, her absence will make my days incomplete. her absence will render a lingering incomprehesibility to the things that will happen around me, bleeding into seconds, into minutes...

it is that brand of mischeivousness that has a silent bite. sweet and sexy she sits there bantering away in secret jests that only we share; a word, and we are sent into fits of laughter and giggles that last half of the entire work shift. chickens, eggs, milk. we banter like we were in dire need of breakfast, wordless and out of breath because of all the laughter...

inexplicable to the outside world for the private jokes shared with just a few people. but now the outside world will become a bit more confounded, a bit more vague; a quiet link between what happens from without and what happens from just within the hand's grasp will be lost.

and not just one word from a sentence, but another, and then another. one after the other words that define experience floats away to form new sentences, along with them goes the laughter and the light moments...

and with the passing of time comes the passing of words that complete and give color to moments. and when everything is punctuated by a single dot at the end, always, always, it will always leave you longing.

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