LEMON
do you remember,
the smell of the sheets on the bed you made love in for the first time?
lemon, wasn't it?
it smelled so tangy. so artificial. but you loved it, didn't you? you loved how he crawled up to you, holding your warm hands. you loved it when he whispered i love you and you're so beautiful into your ears.
you loved how he whimpered your name, didn't you. how you felt under his touch, his raspy voice incoherently moaning into your ear as your heart went boom boom boom.
you loved every fucking second of it.
he wonders how many times you've brought men in the same bed, he wonders how many men have laid on the same sheets. he wonders how much you've writhed under another man's touch, whispering minji minji minji into your ear like a fucking prayer under your fingertips.
when he lies awake in sleepless nights,
he wonders.
he lies under the same bed you've spent nights with other men— how many times?— behind his back. staring at the ceiling.
hopeless.
lightless.
did you know that he loved you?
