Love, Passion, and Romance: a one shot collection

Rumplemintz

Some things that feel complicated are often the simplest. 

The disinterest I keep trying to overexplain into some form of caring. 

The cold eyes I can't find meaning behind. 

When sex is just sex. 

The way your touch always ends and leaves me wishing it meant something. 

It shouldn't be as simple as blind lust. It should be complicated. Months together should mean something. But it doesn't. It never did. 

Jealous motives and a possessive streak keep me around, but without it is there anything between us? I'm making it complicated, but it never was. 

Pain is simple, anger is complicated. 

                            No Attachments. 

I remind myself as I try to put myself back together every time you speak of her. When you oh so casually mention spending the night. 

                            No Promises. 

I swear as I tell you it doesn't matter to me. That the pain in my heart isn't there and I focus on when the next time I get to spend in your bed is instead of her. 

                              No Falling. 

I demand. My heart aches at the thought of pulling itself out of the crater it had already made. The knowledge that if you cared, you would act like it made the complicated feelings so simple. You don't care. So why should I? 

Complicated. I wish this was complicated. I wish I could still pretend the feeling of your body against mine was enough. Love is simple, but so is pain. 

You're supposed to run when things hurt, when they won't get better. It's simply easier to stay and feel this pain then run and feel another. This one is warm on the loneliest of nights. The fantasy is breaking though. The delusions in my head, in my bed. 

It's time to get back to me. To walk away from your complications and your simple words. It's time I forget what you taste like and remember what I feel like.