he looks nothing like you,
but i've spent hours with his lips pressed against mine trying to feel that feeling again.
i swear his tongue will make me gag up all the words i wish i would've said to you.
because maybe sneaking out in the middle of the night will never give me the thrill the way waking up next to your tired, blue eyes did.
maybe his fingers will never dig into me the way that your love did.
maybe his soft palms will never rub against my chest the way your rough hands did.
and maybe i should stop letting unworthy guys crawl into my body just because you would never let me crawl into your mind.
i just wish someone would find home in between my thighs the way you found home in between hers.
but you're not coming back, so i guess binging on desperate, sweaty hookups will have to amount to more than your love ever did.
i'm holding onto something like you.
YOU ARE READING
permanently unfinished.
Poésiewe write our feelings on paper because we have no one to turn to when our vision is blurred by tears and our chests are crushed with sadness.
