Homesick Ghosts

There are these homesick ghosts inside my head. Ghosts that are tearing up my insides to the part where I can never breathe properly. Or even function normally. These ghosts are unabridged longings of something that could never decently here in the same importances.

Something like the soft caresses of a lover gathering your hair at the nape of your neck.

Something like the whispered kisses over the telephone.

Something like the lover's gentle greeting in the dawn in front of your house.

Something like the touch of their eyelashes on your collarbone as they fall asleep.

Something like the lingering whiff of their body balm on your favourite throw.

Something like the art of borrowing one another's articles of clothing.

This is what a soul could ever want.

A connectivity with someone that is not doomed it from the start.