We chase each other around the city, learning about each other and laughing, your hands on my thigh and my fingers in your hair, and we stand on the platform at Islington and you pull me into you, and the entire world goes silent.
I am still here, waiting on you.
And it needs to stop.
Almost, almost but not quite or not yet, or maybe someday in the future, or maybe not at all.
Your body, your rules.
While I am able to initiate and sustain small talk for the purpose of avoiding an awkward silence, there is honestly nothing I find more draining.
They’ll have a constant source of narcissistic supply on the back-burner.
Doubting yourself is part of the process—don’t give into it.
Stay single until it feels easy, simple, like breathing.
We all need to be kinder to ourselves and know that the only validation that holds any real substance is the validation we give to ourselves.