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[Turning Page - Sleeping at Last]
He used to see me with eyes full of wonder and smile at my strangeness. His hands used to fondle me with great caution, and we'd breathe in the same breath. His laughter was music. His touch a poem. His scent my nutriment. There was light and there was magic in the world.
Alas, everything must come to an end. Even beautiful enchantments as this. And I must get use to the fact that his words are now sharp as blades. His hands cold and hard. His being a smothering force. What we used to be is lost in the summer rain, and gone by the autumn wind. Facts remain, despite my want to once more dance like a little fairy on your palm.
I read somewhere that after an ended relationship, the great longing you feel is actually not for the individual you've been separated from, but for the self you were back then. The article wasn't very scientific, but I felt it held a point. Maybe I just miss being a magical creature.
