muse.

Once in a while, I find my lost muse to write. Not too sure if this is good, but I think it is not too bad. Still, readable =)

It's like my finger tips were burning as I brushed against her lightly. Somehow it's as if I am no longer significant once she decides that I am.
She didn't stir nor even acknowledge that I was trying to say a simple goodnight. She doesn't realize how much she affects me with every unintentional gesture.
My brain rationalizes but my heart doesn't. I am but just... just... me.
How many feel the way I do?
Loneliness is an enemy who knows all the secret passages, or rather an old friend who knows when you're in need.
Open your eyes and see the world walk right past you, invisible you feel. Close them and realize, silence is deafening.
Run as you may, hide if you can.
Finding simple reasons is what I live for. The world is complicated enough as it is. All I want is to fall asleep in her arms, hear her chest rise and fall to her breath. I listen, feel, touch and taste. In search of a simple reason to call happiness.
No tears will fall tonight for they will always be a sign of weakness, a part of me that I want to be rid off, and yet the brain persuades me once again: what is happiness without sadness?
If there were no failure in my past, how do I know when I succeed?
If she doesn't hurt me, how can I know if she loves me?
I hurt, therefore she loves.