A Week Without A Sheep.

The Little Bo-Peep has lost her sheep. Har-har.

Seven days, seven EXCRUCIATING days without the Sheep. Yes, I am blogging from Hell. It's a nice place.

Believe me, death by a lonely heart is by far the worst. I would slit my wrists three times over just to escape this kind of death. Ironically. Never mind.

So basically, I had a plan. And this positively diabolical plan was to finally set my mind to getting over you. Because somehow I had figured that your absence would provide an avenue for me to finally erase those memories of your touch, your scent, your face.

I told you it was diabolical. Because it has not taken effect to this day. Not counting on it any other time either.

All I want to do is pick up my phone and dial your number. And wait for your devastatingly gorgeous accent-laden voice to sound at the other side. But I never make it past the ninth digit.

All I hope for at the end of the day is to see you casually walking by me. So I could leap on you and we could just be locked in the most heavenly embrace ever ... until ... well, our arms cramp.

And all I think about is how I can detect your scent even when you're not there. And when I do catch it, I'm always frantically swivelling around, praying that if I keep spinning, you may appear - wearing the most sinfully sexy outfit imaginable.

But it's never that way. Maybe I hope too much.

And the more I'm away from you - the clearer your face appears in my head, the stronger your scent holds on to the skin in my nose (that even food smells like you), and even more I imagine you cuddling me so close.

And the more I can feel your lips on my skin.

I miss you, baby.

-No comment-