I wonder as I toss and turn on this couch if there is another me tossing and turning in a bed next to her significant other. The same time I look back at the stuffing on the couch is the same time she turns to look at him. This rest does not breath return to me as he does.
I lay and wonder what it would be like to curl in close to his body and she wonders what it would be like to not lay so close. These two souls of mine living on the line. Dreaming of the pastures they refuse to water yet deam so divine.
I accept that she is me. The girl who moves close and the girl who pulls away. It does not matter what you do I will not stay.