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it takes all my strength not to dig you up from the ground in which you lay  

I try

Then it brings me back. The soft curves of your face scratched into my eyelids. Close my eyes and pray at the sight of you. I want. Sometimes I think I need. But I’m empty at the end of the day. Nothing to desire or require. Only small things to pray for. Your quiet voice in my ear, or your sleepy eyes. The eyelashes framing them or the tickle of your hair on my shoulders. This may never make sense.