you wither away like a violet’s soul, far from the corners of my fingers; to places in which i can’t seem to find you no matter how hard i try. your a mixture of honeydew and coffee, the stale smell of cigarettes slicing sharp from your tongue as you speak. it’s that sense of home i miss indefinitely, the scent that forever bleeds me dry and exhilarates me both at a time. Energy has begun to vacate from me, evading my veins to leave me exhausted. But i am happy. You make me happy. and i sit rotating with the dirt i stand on, my thoughts swimming within my palms. I sit day in day out reading these pretty little ramblings as though i were a fortune teller who knows not what they are doing, rearranging them in awkward ways. A medium never destined to others fortunes but, knowing how to keep those satisfied. I need not those pessimistic doubts, as I am content with you. I leave you muddled within my fine-tuned thoughts. I am content with you.