We keep doing this dance, stepping carefully so as to not step on the spots where our true feelings have spilled. We speak in metaphor avoiding what we really want to say. I want you, again.
I know we’re both attached but can’t we just pretend for one night that we belong to each other? Can’t we pretend that my body is yours and yours is mine? Don’t you know that no one has ever touched me the way that you have? Don’t you know that no one has made me sing the way that you have? Don’t you?
So many nights I lay here thinking about our time together. So many nights I lay here with my fingers between my legs remembering the last time that you touched me. So many nights I wish that my legs were intertwined with yours, your breath against my neck and my nose in your hair.
I miss those nights of me sneaking in the night seeking what I’ve been missing.
I miss those nights in the tub with you washing my body, kissing my neck, making me speak my truth through moans.
I miss those nights of me running to you because you knew what I wanted and needed if I didn’t. I miss those nights of you soothing my soul through your strokes and kisses.
I know better. I know you’re with her. I know I’m with him. My body doesn’t care. My warmth doesn’t care. I crave you.
Somethings don’t have to make sense and you between my thighs is one of them. Fuck the questions and over analyzing. Slide into me and show me what I’ve been missing and running away from. Remind me why this happened in the first place!
I lay back and exhale. You’re not here. I’m not there. I just have these memories of what was and I want it again. We know better. We’re attached. Why does what’s wrong feel so right?