Musings.

There's a teasing sime playing on your lips, and a mischevious glint in your eyes.
Silently I beg for the butterflies in my stomach to stop fluttering, a wish in vain, as usual.
I ignore my burning cheeks, and feel the restlessness growing inside.
I want to get away, I want to run and I want to continue to run.
But no matter how much I want it, myself I cannot escape, and my dreams keep on taunting me.
I want to touch you, to feel you, but most of all I want to know you deeper.
In my dreams you look at me like I'm special to you, and I can feel every steady beat of your heart under my searching fingertips.
But in you I also see the ghost og what I've had and lost, a wickedly grinning spectre, painted with pieces of a heart hurt more than once.
I might dream of chasing you, but I do not need the thrill of the hunt.
I want a loyal heart  beating with mine, a tender hand to hold, a lover to create dreams of tomorrow with.
And even though I already know that what I want is not for you, my dreams keep on mocking me.
And as long as they do, I will keep on running, because I do not possess enough glue to to put my heart back together should it shatter again.