That Look of Yours

As I blankly staring at the wall,
I hope you’d somehow end up before my face,
Normally talk about ants and chipotle :
But the fear and truth is the actual cage.
I could make you cry and crawl,
In a frustrated longing to touch my fingers,
But I am far more wiser than that.
I only get to wildy dreaming that I get to remember your shirt,
It remind me when our palm were only a milimetre far.
As you wander in my conscience, I feel a weird attachment while I am actually leaving.

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