Each intimate moment shared with my fiancé is a violation. She runs her fingertips gently across my stomach and my eyes roll to the back of my head. My mind is fixated on you instead—a woman I have never met or even seen.
How is it possible to fall in love with words on a screen?
But words are energy to me, and I can’t get enough of yours. I crave your emotional touch, and having to go without, I experience what can only be explained as withdrawals—agitation and depression, extreme highs and lows that are an unfamiliar, shocking combination to my system. And it’s all your fault.
I can’t get away from my fiancé fast enough. The days painfully drag, my eyes never leave the clock. I wish I had the power to move its hands into tomorrow, when I can crawl under the covers with you in my underwear. It’s an intimate energy exchange—just me and the soft glow of your light.
You’ve become a part of me, a part of my life. The heaviness my chest lives with daily. My shameful secret. I never imagined I’d be the one aching for more, but I can easily justify why you fulfill what she can’t—it’s not physical. I’m not lacking anything sexually. In fact, the sex is very much alive; every inch of my skin is addicted to the burning.
But my soul doesn’t burn the way my body does.
I’m lifeless when I’m away from you, the one who should be a stranger. Lifeless, lying cold beside a woman I’m supposed to love, the one who became the stranger instead.
She’s snoring softly beside me. I pull her close to me, attempting to close every kind of distance between us. Minutes later, a discontented sigh escapes me. I gently pull away from her and reach for my phone. My eyelids are getting heavy, but I’m determined to align my sleep pattern with yours. This way we can meet in our dreams, and I can forget the ball and chain that is my reality.