They never tell you how hard it is

To shiver at just the thought

Of tense touches that burn just the right way 

Of bumping noses and nervous laughter

Soft whispers and tracing bodies

That you'll never have it

You'll always be stuck with the falling

Until it doesn't feel like falling anymore 

Just sinking, slowly

Anchored to the idea of gazing through pristine panes of glass and truly seeing the 

lush woodlands for what they are 

Flushed skin a reflection of the adolescent pink carnellias scorching in the sunlight 

Each one subtly beginning to wilt as if it's become aware enough to wish itself death 

More aware than you'll be. 

Dreaming of pink cheeks and hazel eyes