If you will be void of alcohol, you will be void of me. I can only tolerate your company after I’ve had a few…. Dozen drinks.
It is a shame that you cannot love yourself the way you so desperately love him.
I came across a quote the other day that I can’t escape.
“I must be a mermaid. I have no fear of depths and a great fear of shallow living.”
Before you ask, yes. Yes, I do believe in mermaids and their existence. You ask why, but I ask why not. Why not believe in a creature so mystical, powerful, and evasive?
By the way, the quote is from Anais Nin.
That’s what you want to hear from me
Choking on apologies
My tears staining my face
My sobs cleaning our slate
A new beginning
A forgotten ending
Is that all I have to say
Your dick fucked her
My heart hit the earth
Your tongue pushed its way in
I’m left coping with your sins
I can’t and I won’t apologize
One day you will sink beneath your lies
I try to believe
I try to trust
I try to love
But you make it tough
I’ll never be enough
‘Cause I give a fuck
I’m the one who loved
You left me behind
You left me in the dust
And I’m stuck here
Trying to find a way to cope
I’m stuck here
‘Cause you’ve stolen all my hope
Our hands are everywhere at once. His full weight on top of my body yearning to be touching skin instead of clothing. He is placing butterfly kisses down my neck, and I try to remember how to inhale and exhale. Our ragged breaths are drowned out by our racing pulse. I push my hands under his shirt trying to reach skin, but even as I feel how flawless he is, it is not enough. I start to lift the shirt up but he nips at my neck, causing me to forget my attempt to remove his shirt. I arch myself, molding my body to his. He emits a sound between a moan and a growl, and I place my hands back onto his body.
As I lift my arms a final time, I slide them up to take the offensive material off of his torso. My fingers feel like ice compared to his scorching body. I scratch my nails down his back and feel him curve into me. His shallow puffs of heat coast over my collar bone and drift into my ear. He somehow gets my bra loosened and sits up to straddle my hips. I groan from the lack of contact and reach up to bring him back to me. He smirks and runs his fingers under my back and into the inside of my bra. I hear three distinct clicks then feel a rush of air between my breasts. The feel of his warm fingers against my back causes me to lean upwards. His hands are not just resting against my skin anymore, but they are bringing my body up to meet his.
But we never collide.
“Why do you do this to me,” I whisper to him as he pulls his hands away, causing me to fall back towards the bed.
And that is it.
I lay awake in my bed, panting, with an ache between my legs. I groan and turn over in my bed, checking to see how much sleep I got tonight. Two thirty-seven is flashing back at me in red.
Awesome. I slept for a grand total of two hours and seven odd minutes. Lovely.
These dreams, nightmares almost, seem to get worse the longer I go without seeing him.
You refill her inhaler prescription the same day that you buy your pack of Newport 100s. You place new air fresheners in your car the same day you fill your ashtray with cig butts. You ask your doctor why she wheezes at night the same day you ask the cashier which fifth is on sale.