Presence

Sometimes, not knowing
hurts the most.

The dull pain
of wanting
to look up,
to be held,
to commit their essence to memory.

The physical pain
of the absence of arms around you,
holding,
knowing you'll never fall.
A stab in the heart as distance forbids it.

The heaviness of staring
into those brown eyes
and simply
melting.

The need to hear
the voice,
the laughter.

The thought
of messing up their hair,
and smirking at their self-consciousness
as they try to fix it.

Ignorance isn't bliss.
It's what kills you slowly.