Words.

Anxious

That is how I feel when you do not text me first. Some would call it thirst but I'd call it 'not wanting to forget your voice.'

Anxiousness is at its finest when it courses through my veins as if it were meant to be there.

My brain has some damages from the usual wear and tear, and I know that one day you'll want to be here but for now, she's there in place of you and I can't help but feel somehow lied to.

Broken promises and forgotten losses leave me to believe that you never, for once, had a coherent thought.

Maybe I just forgot.

Anxiety is what makes up my identity. My nerves define me more than my face does.

All I want is to feel loved.

Anxiety is what I feel when you talk to me.

Your voice can put me to sleep faster than my nightmares do and I've never wanted to love some like me before.

I am a wall made of brick and so are you. Maybe this world was meant for two.

Anxiety is what runs through both of us, but it also ran through him which is why my dreams consist of a man you only know as 'him.'

Anxiety is what makes my knees go weak when I see you. But also him.

Anxiety is what causes my words to come out broken, just like my soul, when I hear you speak. But also him.

Anxiety is what makes my heart break and beat at the exact same time, always in a constant state of rhythm and rhyme. I cannot tell you how many times I've rehearsed my words.

Always afraid that if I messed up, I'd lose part of my world.

Anxiety is what holds me back and catapults me forward as if I had wanted it.

I am sorry, my love, but I must let my anxiety speak.

Because it's more decisive than me.