You don’t need another human being to make your life complete, but let’s be honest. Having your wounds kissed by someone who doesn’t see them as disasters in your soul but cracks to put their love into is the most calming thing in this world.
Trust me, I don’t miss you anymore. At least that’s what I tell myself just to stay sane. I hate myself for letting you manipulate me because all I feel is this void I can’t fill. I try to distract myself in every way possible but somehow I keep letting you back in even though you’re already gone. I would have loved you forever, but you cut that short. You were all I ever knew. Sometimes I wonder if I ever really knew you at all. Maybe one day we’ll be able to talk about it but I feel like I’ll crumble to the sound of your voice the same way I used to before. The bitterness I feel burns holes in my insides and all I feel is numb. After so long I would expect myself to forget you—to not even flinch at the sound of your name, but I’m still weak. Remembering you feels like a dream. A dream that I struggle to remember over sips of coffee that I wish could wash away the faded memories of you. Sometimes I forget that I miss you, but when I finally do, it hits me like a fucking train. But honestly, I don’t miss you. I can’t even look at you the same way I used to. I only miss my idea of you. The picture I painted in my head that I convinced myself was true. I lied to myself the entire time. But somehow I’m still in love with that same picture. It’s all I have left of you. I guess that’s why I’m still not over you.
The only way I can bring myself closure is to be my own fucking anchor since you let my ship sink. Unfortunately I still look for you in everything and it kills me. Did I really make it that easy for you to walk away? To find someone else? I wonder if you tell them the same things you used to tell me. I crave to know if you do all the things for them that I used to do for you yet you never did for me because I’m sitting here spilling my heart on paper when I wish I was spilling my heart out to you.
godddd damn. preach it.
He fingered my ribs one by one as though he were playing Beethoven. When he stroked my third rib, I jolted and jerked. He smiled and said, “Hmmm…I like the way this key sounds.” He continued to tickle me and we rolled around in my sheets and laughed as the sun peeked through the blinds. It was as if we were swimming. I never learned how to swim; I was too afraid of drowning.