GIRL UNDER ME- GUMTHESERIES

words of adoration (softly you are)

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What have you done to me?

This is the question I have been repeating in a constant loop inside my brain since last time you grabbed the doorknob of my office and softly closed the door. Softly, huh, just like everything you do.

You are. 

Softly you are when you speak to me, softly you are when you caress my hair, when you type on your keyboard, when you pick up your desk's phone, softly you are when you greet your family, when you help your mom settle the table, when you pet your dog. When you look at me with those eyes I can't resist, softly you are in the morning, in my arms, after our usual love making session, unable to move because of the pain and pleasure I put you through in the sheets. Our sheets. Because to me, they are still ours. To you?

Is there to you anything you remember me by? 

To me there is a lot to reminisce you.

I don't want to forget about you. I can't forget about you. I refuse to. 

It's time to confirm my obsession about you, my love for you. The undeniable passion I have for you, a passion I have covered up from everyone in the office, Kirk, my grandmother, you.

See? Everything I speak about leads to you. You are my endgame, I can't live my life without you, I can't move forward without you. God wonders how in the hell has the company moved along with no Mon in management.

You once said you were a fan of mine, well, I have to confess, this idol of yours is in mourning of you. Crying every night, silently, loudly, violently, breaking portraits of you and I, throwing dishes against the kitchen floor, punching walls, specially the walls where I had you pinned against after long days of us trying to get the work done in the office but secretly craving our sex.

There is a lot I want to tell you, anything and everything has happened in the course of a year. A lot of which I regret about. But I think you deserve to know. Certainly I, who has a problem acknowledging the wrongs I do, who lacks of communication, sincerity, who has trust issues, and an immense amount of jealousy of those who even think of approaching you, hence, write them down on paper. I insist, there is a lot I want to tell you, but that has to be in person.

Don't think I haven't seen you since our break up that horrible Tuesday. I compulsively follow you, stalk all of your social media, I have my friends in search for you although they remind me of my toxic and unhealthy habits, they still accomplish my orders. They accomplish everything that is important to me, everything I cherish, everything I live for. You. 

When they tell me about you and Nop hanging around, I get this unmistakable sense of fury which leads me again into the cicle of breaking everything that makes my house. 

I swear to life if I see that motherfucker having a chance with you, I'll have him murdered. Trust.

Don't get me wrong, I don't want to scare you Mon, that is definitely not what I want. This is me coming forward. Of what I am right now, desperate. In need of you, of us, of what we were, of what you decided to break, to deprive me of the only thing that I truly cared about. Our relationship. With you, I saw my future in the long run, I was determined of asking for your parents' consent to have your hand in marriage, to buy a house on the first line of the beach, to start a family, have maybe two or three of us running around the house while I hug you from behind whilst you make the kids' favourite dish for lunch after their exhausting day at school. Then, just after we tuck them in bed I have you all spread for me in our living room floor, trying not to moan my name when I take you to heaven and back to earth.

And you don't have to worry about grandmother, she died a month ago. I now own her property and belongings, which makes me the richest person in the history of Thailand. I was thinking about selling her house, but I won't be doing that unless you and I move out into our dream house. I can't see myself making decisions, growing without you by my side.

I really hope you don't ever have to read this, this is so embarrassing, even for me to write. I feel disgusted with myself for having all these mixed emotions for you: love, craving, madness, passion, hate, jealousy, toxicity... At least I am brave enough to recognize what is happening to me, it took me a year. If I had known about this when we were together, I then would have fought for both of us and demonstrated my willingness to improve on my complex behaviour. I don't excuse the things I did that made you give up on us. You had every right to quit. 

I'm fucked up.

And in case you are finding yourself reading this, please understand that while I'm writing these sinful words, I'm crying my eyes out. You deserve it all from me, even my tears.

Speaking of tears, I loved when we both cried every time we fucked. It was a fantasy being on top of you, being an spectator to the faces you made, trying to hold your cum, however, you and I know it was impossible to hold our guard up when it came to fucking in the bed, kitchen, shower, couch, at midnight in the office such and such. Seeing your pale and radiant skin blush, your eyes giving birth tears made myself cry from the art that you are. So softly you are.

I love you Mon.

I love you Mon.

I hate you too.

But my love surpasses beyond any hate I feel for you.

I love you Mon.

Come back to me.

Come back to me.

You will come back to me.