Lletres: Unrequited. Sleep Alone.

:
Maybe if you could feel my heartbeat this would all make sense; that oxygen means nothing without the pressure of your chest. Drawing breaths to no avail and I can't even manage a sigh and it's sick to think I mourn your hips and my hands on your thighs. I swear to god I'll suffocate before the night is through. I need this more than anything, but I'll never have you