Languished, and sleeping with the idea of you being around. Encompassing the illusion of this notion shall pass. Needing you like that, cannot make me. Pining for your physical presence cannot be how my nights are insomniacly dispensed. My ever-ready convenience is always going to put me through this exact sick cycle carousel.

Too weak to escape feelings, too strong to pour my heart all over the table; my limbo on love.