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Description
When you leave, I see in a haze. That is not poetry, it is true. You always smudge up my glasses. I used to think this would only happen when I dated guys who didn't wear glasses. Years later, I write corrected. But, seriously, you wear glasses too! You must understand how they smudge! If I didn't know better, I'd think you do it on purpose... Come to think about it, do I know better?

The smudge-induced haze isn't helped by the tears that inevitably gall. Salty little fuckers tend to blur things as well.

Mentally, the haze sets in as well. If I don't immediately distract myself from your lack of presence here, more and more tears will fall. I'll sit around and depress myself into the depths of my bed. Where I feel nothing but comfort and total isolation from my senses. I won't hear, so I won't notice the lack of your sweet laughter. I won't smell, so I can't miss the scent of my love. I can't taste- although your kisses always linger. The lack of senses blinding me to a place where I can't look and not see you. Most important, with all those pillows and blankets, how can I miss out bodies interlocking in the perfect way they always do? Of course I can, quite easily at that.

So, with my dirty glasses, and damp face, I'll read or watch something 'engaging'. Any thing to escape the reality of facing another week longing for you with all those damned senses. Senses that make me all too aware that here is not a place that you are.

While this doesn't say much, I realize the haze has been lifted. A stray tear fell down my left cheek. Another threatens to cut across my right. It is time to find another distraction before reality sinks back in.

Description
When you leave, I see in a haze. That is not poetry, it is true. You always smudge up my glasses. I used to think this would only happen when I dated guys who didn't wear glasses. Years later, I write corrected. But, seriously, you wear glasses too! You must understand how they smudge! If I didn't know better, I'd think you do it on purpose... Come to think about it, do I know better?

The smudge-induced haze isn't helped by the tears that inevitably gall. Salty little fuckers tend to blur things as well.

Mentally, the haze sets in as well. If I don't immediately distract myself from your lack of presence here, more and more tears will fall. I'll sit around and depress myself into the depths of my bed. Where I feel nothing but comfort and total isolation from my senses. I won't hear, so I won't notice the lack of your sweet laughter. I won't smell, so I can't miss the scent of my love. I can't taste- although your kisses always linger. The lack of senses blinding me to a place where I can't look and not see you. Most important, with all those pillows and blankets, how can I miss out bodies interlocking in the perfect way they always do? Of course I can, quite easily at that.

So, with my dirty glasses, and damp face, I'll read or watch something 'engaging'. Any thing to escape the reality of facing another week longing for you with all those damned senses. Senses that make me all too aware that here is not a place that you are.

While this doesn't say much, I realize the haze has been lifted. A stray tear fell down my left cheek. Another threatens to cut across my right. It is time to find another distraction before reality sinks back in.