I wish I could indulge myself into the pages of the book, getting lost in between the spilled ink and fingerprints left behind as I turn page after page. I wish I could sink into the couch, letting the silky touches of curtains slipping through my fingers rock me to sleep. I wish I could feel the warmth from your words once again, wishing me sweet dreams. But now you only wish me sweet nightmares. I wish I didn’t wish too much.
YOU ARE READING
11:11
Randomdear stray eyelashes, ladybugs, dark tunnels, wishbones, dandelions, pennies, shooting stars, 11:11, and birthday candles, when will you do your job?
