I wonder if you smile sometimes when you look down at your phone. I wonder if you think of me when you’re eating dinner alone. I wonder how you think of me now. In a society that’s so obsessed with naming and categorizing, what kind of relationship do we have? Are we friends? Are we friends with benefits? We’re not just fuck buddies. Are we casually dating?
You snap me, and text me every single day. Every morning, you’re the first name I see light up my phone. All day you text me sill things; random things that you didn’t really need to text me, but you did anyway It’s an excuse to talk to me, which you shouldn’t be doing, because you’re supposed to be working.
I showed you a dress I wanted to buy, and you said you loved it. But did you think I looked beautiful, or did you think I looked sexy? Was it a “I want to take you on a date,” dress, or was it an “I want to fuck you,” dress? You told me you wanted to take me out for my birthday, and you’re trying to take off of work next weekend, so you can come see me. I hope you get off just this one Saturday.
I hate it when you say you’re talking to other girls, or when you’re hanging out with other girls. I hate it when you say you’re going to the bar with your buddies, because you’ll get drunk, and you’ll want to hookup with other girls. I don’t have the power to stop you. We’re not together. We’ll never be together. I don’t want you to be with other girls. I want you to be with me. I want you to want to be with me. That’s not news. You know it all already. I can’t help but be happy around you though. My shoulders relax, and all the tension I had goes away.
We were just cuddling, and I loved having your arm wrapped around me at night. We even woke up cuddled close to each other. I loved how you teased the line of my underwear. I loved how I could tell when your breath was getting faster. I loved that your hair smelled like fresh shampoo, and I loved that you just chuckled at me when I couldn’t sleep. I loved your kisses, because they were so soft.
I can’t talk to my friends about you. I can’t tell them anything you said that I found funny. I can’t say what I’m smiling about, and I can’t show my excitement every time you’re coming over. I can’t voice any frustrations. I’m beginning to feel like I can’t tell them anything, ever.They hate you. No. They don’t hate you, they hate what you did.
They’re worried. I can do better, they always tell me. I wonder what they’d say if I told them the person they liked, or their significant other, was ugly. What would they say if I told them that I thought their person was a shitty person? If I told them that they could never talk about their person.
I won’t say it again unless they bring it up; unless I absolutely have to. I love saying your name, but I won’t say it anymore here. I just don’t want this to end, but I’m expecting it to end any minute now, because there’s nothing holding you here with me. I want to be a strong, independent woman, but the fact is, you call the shots. I want someone who doesn’t want me back. I want someone who’ll never want me.
Isn’t there something wrong with that?