Ink Stained Soul…

Every time I try to move forward, I’m overwhelmed with memories of us. I see myself standing in his room, wearing nothing but his blue shirt, looking at books on his shelf. He went to get me water. Flashes of him carrying me down the hallway, clothes left along the path, kissing me and touching me. I’m consumed by the image of a man desperate for the touch of a woman that can never get enough of him. I remember every moment of our nights together, haunted by images of us that I never want to forget, burned inside me.
I am still his.