I don’t want to drunk message you.
So I’m writing this instead
Because I’m sick of using inebriation to tell you what’s on my mind.
I want you to fuck me so hard I see stars.
I want you here, in my arms.
I want you to sneak me away and fuck me against the bathroom stall – with girls coming in seeing my fingers curled around the metal frame, hearing moans and grunts and sighs.
I want you to pin me down, twist my hair in your hand, and tell me I’m not going anywhere.
And then I want you to hold me close- like in that moment I’m the only person that matters.
Because goddammit, I miss you.
I miss you so much it hurts.
And I know full well you don’t feel the same.
You don’t say hi anymore. You don’t call, or message, unless I cave and make the first communication. And it sucks. So fucking much.
But, I also get it. You’re hung up on your ex. You are very, very far away. So, I won’t tell you any of these things that occupy my mind.
But I miss your arms around me. I miss the way you look at me and the way you say my name. I miss the way you smile at me when you haven’t seen me in a while, kiss me and say, “Well, I feel better.”
And I can only say these things when there are stars in the sky, when my breath smells like whisky and life is blurred around the edges.
I hate that you make me feel these things, and that you don’t feel them back.
So that’s why I’ll write them here. I won’t burden you with a message you feel like you have to respond to, and probably won’t know how to, when you’re thousands of miles away.
This is my safe place. To openly feel whatever it is I’m feeling.
I miss you. And I really wish I didn’t.