A Portrait of Unrequited Love

It has been three months since a certain phrase was perhaps accidentally murmured in a cider filled haze. My fur coat engulfed my upper body and your hands found their own way home, nestling themselves underneath my top as you kissed me in the kitchen; the first cold night of the year. Those words would then be reluctantly uttered a couple times more, the last time after f*****g in your single bed as your parents slept, intoxicated on pills. Tonight, once again, is cold. I have extra blankets swimming around my bed and my house never returned to feeling like home after staying at yours for two weeks. At dinner we ate too much and I drank too much and cried a little bit on the way home, terrified of what the future holds. Surely this is the happiest I can be and yet my eyes sting and my bed is empty.

Reviews

[Cathy Wattam]

This is a good piece of writing but I'm not too keen on the profanity. Just my personal preference though. Some great imagery here and much to ponder.

[khalid]

very nicely written, so many feelings are mixed together here, felings of love and passion mixed with feelings of longing and missing with hoping and wishing...i like the way you have picked the words. i liked the images and the stolen moments you have lived...