As the days go by, I tend to think about indecision and pause more and more. Not that I hadn't the day I met him. But even now as I contemplate to give him a fixture in my pages, I wait and trotter around the edges. Not that he warrants oblivion or deserves obscurity. He is too bold an image for my mind to erase. Yet still his mystery intrigues me. Unknown entities are not a part of my world, yet on odd days of tempestuous vigor, I am known to take matter into my hands and plunge into the icy cold waters. Today as I pause to scrawl my scattered ramblings on the pages of my journal, I am uncertain, if I will ever see him again. And oddly enough I want to. I want to touch that skin again, run my fingers through his hair. Whisper my dormant desires into his ears and feel him move unconsciously in his sleep. I want to see his droopy eyelids close in forgetfulness and then open in lazy ignorance to break into a relaxed yawn. He is wickedly conscious of the effect he has on me and the desires he arouses. If only wanting could end in happy ecstasy, each time my mind wanders, I would be in heaven by now.
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