Empty pages, I whisper my wishes, making sure no one will see me, holding them tighter than the lover I never had.
No matter how cold, I embrace my moments. No matter how bad it bites your bones, I have warm thoughts. Secretly, I wish you meet them with your glance, always having an open ending, giving you the option to mark the start of a new paragraph.
I never turn the blind eye in the hopes of hearing "are you thinking the same as I am?" You wait for that moment, for the moment where two points sync via the shortest distance between each other.
But all connections can be lost with flicking attention. You try to hold on, but like trying to hug the warm shower after cold, you know it's a fleeting moment of bliss that must be let go, and the longer you hold, the more painful it will become.
Yet still, I keep the other half of my heart open.