This summer I drew a line and turned off my feelings. I have committed myself to no strings attached, pure, relaxed fun. But as the summer goes on, I feel the line starting to get crossed. I slowly back away and you drag me back across with your lips and your hands and the way my body reacts to you.
God, I fucking miss you so much. It hits me randomly during the day. I’m with people who actually care about me, laughing, smiling, being happy and then out of nowhere it hits me that you left. You left and it didn’t even hurt you. Not talking to me isn’t even fucking hurting you, because I was just another girl to you. I was just another one of your fucking toys.
Sometimes, you read a book and it fills you with this weird evangelical zeal, and you become convinced that the shattered world will never be put back together unless and until all living humans read the book. And then there are books like An Imperial Affliction, which you can’t tell people about, books so special and rare and yours that advertising your affection feels like betrayal
I was never in love with you;
I was in love with the idea of you.
The idea of you comforting me if I needed it, the thought of you wrapping your arms around me.
To have the memory of you calling me beautiful.
I loved you, but not for who you were…
so why is it that I still ache for you? m.k.j.