I want him to write me a poem full of angst and fury, cursing the way I made him fall for me.
I drove myself to the point when I’ve become so obvious another person that it was completely impossible to remember how exactly I got there or how to get back. I saw in him a perfect fit. I was so blind with the thought that he accepted me as I was that I didn’t see him for what he was.
You’re touching his face in a way you’ve never touched it before. It feels warm and soft, and you have a feeling you’re doing it wrong, but it feels so good, you decide to let that feeling go.