Roses; Romance; Spices; Sangria; Lipstick; Genitals; Exit Signs; Lipstick; Confidence; Romance; Color of My Longing.
Today has been uneventful, so far. Another shitty Tuesday. Rain.
His voice is flat, tired and hopeless. Your sighs are long and exasperated, pushing out the last pulse of air like your lungs just might collapse with each exhalation.
Your 20s are that crucial time of exploration you’ll never get back when, say, you’re in your 30s and doting on your loving family. But right now, there’s always time for the shithead-next-door.
At our last interaction, when I found that his heart had the emotional depth of a paper doll, my heart was stripped of emotion.
Snooping on his Facebook has been so lethal for me. So endlessly time-consuming and toxic. So many pictures and posts opened a window to a person I’d never get to know more about.
Unfortunately, I didn’t typically love people who were good to me. And there was an entertainment in that and a necessity to be something that was unattainable.
But the happiness fades. The lust fades. It all fades. And then you’re left alone, by yourself, wondering how in a city of close to nine million people, there’s not one that understands you.