It’s almost the end of February. 

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It’s not anger or resentment or sadness that transpires after the story ended, no, it was more of an openness that emerged with unfulfilled fantasies. To have and to hold a body so unguarded, so desperate in the desire to feel submerged beneath a wave of emotional balance. Swimming together in a limitless pool of possibilities of allowing the love to grow. There is no frustration behind words, but the feeling of loss, Knowing that bodies within fingertips slipped slowly from grip because of timing. What is the concept of time when loving someone feels like an eternity of never endings? I’ll always wonder what it would’ve been like to make love to/with you. To create against the flesh of a wounded warrior and follow the guided path to emotional liberation. To feel depths explored and kisses between apologies. To hold hands in the midst of an overwhelming flood between energies. It’s not sadness that is creating these words, it’s not a mind trying to erase. There’s a void that yearns to be filled, completely, with just you. This is not to express the hearts of the damned nor to shun the validity of fear in love. This is just a missed connection in the ability to bring life forward in you. The connection, that if given, could have changed the negative connotations attached to the mental perception what a woman could bring forth in the man she wanted to love, wholly. 
I would have loved to have been the one for you.

 
You’ll never know have good it is to have all of my affection.

And I’ll never get a chance to experience your love.

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