A bed of thorns
Resting aside the day that passed by so quickly and also so uneventfully. Pacing my memories for something to remember, but all that comes to mind is another image of that soul that adorns admiration from within me. Once a torn past, embedded within the deep trenches of my emotional boundaries, inside the parts of my heart that were broken on a previous pursuit of passion, there emerges a hook that draws it back from the island that it had been placed upon. A reunion could only mean a regeneration of hope, and this would be caused by the coming of another place to shower my hopes of an intimate affair.
Though as if the hopes start to peirce through me, my bed grows thorns to remind me of two things: the sense of loss of the past; and the sense of not having what i dearly yearn for. Sleep is no longer a luxury that i look forward to, but another memory of what awaits for me if i should not take initiative. Alas, the cycles starts again with the screams of an unfulfilled side of me, leading to dreams that leave me disturbed and fatigued. A once cherrished place that had seasons worth of silent sanctuary for rest is lost to a painful retreat to an unwanted yet condemned sheets of misery.
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