Let's cut to the chase.
Blurt out the fact that whatever this is that we have isn't made by any emotional attachment. That the secret world that we built on our own is just a bubble of temporary distraction and a one call away solution to a sudden sexual tension. That every knock on the door is just an indication of another long night with occasionally a shot of vodka. Followed by a morning with a sore core and ripped clothes. And maybe a hidden broken heart and sad soul everytime i wake up to your empty side of the bed. That you're only able to hear me through my suppressed moans and whimpers. And only took my screaming of your name a satisfaction to how you touch me. Never the way I delicately whisper your name like it was the most beautiful word to ever exist that somehow the Oxford dictionary failed to give a meaning into. Or how I press light feathery kisses on your shoulder as you hold me as I came down from my high. How I tightly hold you hand with every lick and flick of your tounge. And how I wish that you're drawing constellations as you trace your fingers through my skin. And that I don't only see this as a secret escapade to a temporary warmth. This isn't just a relationship between thin sheets and bite marks. Or shaky legs and sweaty bodies pressed against each other.
But let's cut to the chase.
And face the fact that I am The only one seeing whatever we have this way, that I am The only one who feels this way. But if this is what it takes for you to allow me to at least feel you for the night, then I'll leave my door open.
You can come anytime.
