I crave affection
like a winter craves the sun-
yet when its warmth touches
my skin,
I become snow again.
My heart is a house with open
windows,
but my hands keep slamming
the door.
I beg to be held,
then flinch at the echo of
footsteps.
Love stands at my shore like a
gentle tide,
and I-
a paradox of thirst-
keep drowning in the desert I
create.
I am both the wound and the
bandage,
the plea and the goodbye:
aching to be chosen,
terrified to be kept.
~ephemeral
Instagram: ephemeral_iin
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