.001%

Spreading my legs used to be so fucking 

easy that my friends expect it, that it’s 

become my typical behavior. 

So tell me why the thought of intimacy 

and sex and just having someone else looking 

at me naked freaks me the fuck out to where 

I couldn’t even enjoy it. I can have the hottest 

guy flirting with me and all I can think about is 

your mouth between my legs telling 

me how much you fucking love me.

I HATE THAT I’M IN LOVE WITH YOU. 

I hate that you have this fucking grip over 

me because I can’t even enjoy 

myself without you. I can’t enjoy anything 

because all I think about is your body in my 

bed holding me close, 

playing with my hair until I 

fall asleep and it’s not the fucking 

same. Nothing is the same.

I’m done with sex. 

I’m done with intimacy. 

I’m done with any kind of comfort 

because I can’t handle it if it’s not you. 

I can’t even sleep on my side of the bed 

because my body, bless her heart, doesn’t understand when 

I try to tell her don’t roll over, you’re wasting your time. 

She doesn’t understand why I sleep on the edge of the 

bed far away from where your scent still lingers so I 

don’t cry into your shirts as much because that’s the kind 

of fucking loser I am. She doesn’t understand why the 

world’s dark and bed’s empty and why I can’t stop crying.

That your shirts are the closest fucking thing I have to 

you and I just lay there crying into myself breathing your 

scent in my lungs, praying to God it never goes away.

Can’t you see how much I fucking love you? 

Is it obvious now? 

Because I’m going crazy knowing you’re 

there and I’m here and there’s nothing I can 

fucking do but hope to god my heart’s right. 

That the .001% chance really does exist because 

that’s the only thing that’s keeping me together right now.

Remember how my skin felt on your fingers? 

The soft curves of my hip bones in your mouth? 

Breathing me in as you kissed my collar bones? 

I hope you come back. 

I hope you come back.

I hope you come back.

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