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i mask my true intentions with promiscuity. the way to a boy's heart is to not allow yourself to confess how much you're starving for an adoration to last, but instead let him know how you're going to devour him later. you don't know whether or not you enjoy the company he's giving you, and eventually you mistake it for true connections. you're aware that each and every time this occurs, your feelings will twist into a gigantic quadruple knotted knot in the pit of your stomach and you'll ignore it and ignore it for months and months while he continues to stare at the pictures you just sent him without thinking of the heart that's inside that breast in the photo and how it beats too slow or too quickly when thinking of him. But you go along with it anyway, thinking that this time it will change. this time this boy won't abuse my power. this time I won't catch a cold when he flirtatiously asks for more. this time he'll like me for me. and he doesn't because I showed him my skin and flesh before the galaxies in my head. but it's all I know.
