Saudade.
You. You are the saudade of my life.
It's crazy though.
How you randomly surge through me.
Not sure if I can even handle the need to have you here,
Yet the inability to make it happen.
You could be my whisky,
Sgriobn. My lip itches,
Waiting for to taste you again.
It's not like you'll even know this is about you,
Or that you'll ever read it.
Why should I write to someone who is almost as nonexistant as she feels?
I shouldn't.
By the way,
I miss my best friend.
She's kinda gone missing?
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Missa Defunctorum
praise the lost souls, it'll set yours free
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