Feels of My Instinct

There’s a reason my instinct never allows my heart to feel low about things that ain’t true. There’s a reason why I feel too much.

I want to feel that feeling of being loved, being desired and beyond all the circumstantial feelings of this tryst between us, I want someone to look into the corneal depths of my eyes and wipe off the lingering droplets from the innocence of my sleep.

I desire not lust, nor any love that’s delinquent to the mysteries of intriguing plethora of reminiscent love-making to eternity.

I want someone to look between the linguistic features of my yearning and bellowing sensitive cries.

I want no more perpetual smithereens of my emotions getting disdained by explicit people walking in and out of my life.

I don’t desire physical touches to make me feel alive along with the imprisoned relinquishes of my skin.

I want someone to look through my eyes and understand the iterating disbelief of the hastened paths of the past.

I want someone I haven’t met yet.

I want someone to be precise about me to learn that I want no one, but her by my side.

Her motion was never an option, but her instinct was.

But, beyond all the contemplating instances of my life, I want someone to stay forever this way. And I know this is not happening in this life. Then from where has the word ‘forever’ been coined? Why has the word ‘together’ been featured to eternity?

Losing people is no less a frivolous monotone than mourning my soul to the iterating deaths accustomed with loneliness.

That been said, I focus on working it to make it forever. Why? Because I hate losing the essence.


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