You're not her type you say.

And yet if I were to sum her, 'type,' up you would be it.

You're on point baby boy.

You've become obsessed to become her elusive 'type'.

And I only wish to say that I'm exaggerating when I say 'obsessed'.

But you are.

You've lost so much weight, to the point that you can even wear my 

loose sweaters comfortably even though I'm five feet tall. 105 pounds.

The things that you merely boast about have become about material 

things.

Losing weight to you now is like a trophy. Your eyes light up when you see that you've lost weight and you've been looking sickly. You control your calorie intake and it's lower than it should be for someone who exercises. You said once that you'd love to be my weight... but you're 5'8. 

I love you like a older sister loves their baby brother... but you're scaring me. I don't really know if you understand where I'm coming from.

I hope you're free on sunday so we can hang out again. I wanna tell you how being sick seemed the best way to be skinny for  me at one point.

Small secretive smiles. 

I quite like those.

More specifically the ones where the persons

eyes are lit with a dim glow of happiness. 

Yeah, those were my favorite kind of smiles on you.

I pretended to smile and laugh when you

made those engagement jokes.

It's not fucking funny.

I regret telling you now.

Because I don't know if you've ever seen

a person try to hold back from crying. But I was.

I was having a hard time opening my mouth to tell

you about it in the first place. The fact that I

even attempted to explain to 

you the reason why I'm not going to 

spend the rest of my life with the one person I would- was

fucking hard. 

You're either an insensitive twat or fucking clueless.

Either or... I'm appalled.

Ugh. I kind of don't want to be your friend anymore. 

But at the same time I want to explain myself to you- so you'll

learn to be more fucking perceptive.

More emotions flickered across her
face when she buried her nose in a book
than when she kissed him the morning
for work.

Sometimes I get prideful and think that maybe my feelings for you have faded (at least a little bit). So I make the mistake of lingering. And then there’s this heaviness in my chest that increases the more I try to push it down- to try to control it. But it’s irrepressible and all I want to do is to unravel all over again

I wanted you.
I wanted you because I wanted to corrupt you.
Corrupt that kindness in you that scared me.
Corrupt the sweetness in you that tempted me.
I wanted to taint you.
I wanted to taint you so that when I shoved you
into a wall- you'd curl your fingers through my hair and bring me closer.
I wanted to taint you so that before our lips met you'd smirk-
knowing full well how much I wanted you.
I wanted you.

Is it hard for you to say 'I missed you'?

Your initial tight squeeze of a hug caught me off guard.

It startled me to the point of not hugging you back.

You squished my face into your chest for a little while. 

I didn't mind.

I was tempted to put my arms around you and sway.

'I missed you,' I had no problem saying it. 

I told you a while ago, that once someone 

becomes special to me, I don't look back.

Shy? 

Why?

I missed you- and that's that.

Most assuredly, the current me.

I think I talk too much.
I think it has something to do
with the fact that I spend a lot of time to myself.
That, and I'm an only child.

Although, now that I'm older-
I've learned to appreciate ones own solitude.
I've also learned to appreciate ones company
without wanting to fill up the air with words.
People find that boring.
Sometimes people
need that companionable silence,
side by side, just an acknowledging presence.
People also find that boring.
Fine- but you'll get my opinion on
the world if you let me.

Things in my life have happened to me in extremities
and my mind has adapted to make these straining leaps.
That's why my biggest defense mechanism is to forget.
It's ingrained in me to move into extremities,
but I'm attempting to learn differently.

I'm learning to listen to people.
Honestly-It's easier to listen to the bustle of the city
or that of nature than people.
Because people can use words that
can frighten me, confound me, scare me,
hurt me, inspire me, and twist different emotions in me.

I like it.

I wouldn't say, 'kinda'. Because I most assuredly do.

I wouldn't say otherwise if you labeled me masochistic.

But there is an extent.

Anyways, I'm not the greatest listener because I'm
one of those annoying people who usually
have an opinion.
But I'm learning.
I didn't say the progress was going fast.
It's at a walking pace, but I'm definitely going up.

I don't know where I'm going with all this
self analyzing but I guess.... this is the current me.

You're endearing.

I like that when we sit together our bodies are pressed
side by side. I like that it feels natural and not at all forced.
I like that when you hug me it's a true honest to goodness
hug- a hug that makes me feel missed. I like teasing you
because I like seeing your smile after that. I like your
attempts at being funny but you end up just being corny.
I like that you're a dork. It's cute, but I can't seem to get
that off my chest. Next time- I'll be sure to tell you.
But for now, Happy Valentines Day.

You said you like it when women take advantage of you.

But I didn't ask you to elaborate cause what was

going through my head was me roughly pushing you 

onto the table to give you a soft kiss. I couldn't

say the first witty thing that popped into my

head. 'Cause the first word on my tongue was,

'Fuck'.

Or maybe I'm just an easier baby machine.

Is there more to a small waist then just the inherent need to mate with one who looks "fertile"? Or am I just over thinking things? Is it the feeling of skin upon skin flushing down the slope of a small waist to the swell of ones hips? Is it the more pronounced sashay, although not deliberate in it's intent's sway? Or is it because the tapered arches leads to skin that encloses the object of one's desire in a titillating curve to behold, to squeeze with two hands?

I've been told a few times that the fact that 

I was bad with dates would be my downfall one day.

But as selfish as I am, I'm glad that I don't remember

the exact dates of certain things in my life. 

Because if I did, then I think it'd be harder for me 

to get over you when important dates of our 

time together ambled closer. I don't think I'd be able 

to bare the brunt of a sharper memory of you.

I don't know why I still love you. 

I drunkenly skyped you.

Then I cried myself to sleep.

And I don't even remember it.

I babbled a lot of 'sorry's', and 'forgive me's.

But I made sure to tell you I love you. 

I said this quietly.

And Apparently, you still love me too.

You said this quietly.

At least, that's what I was told happened.

I hope my friends not lying.

Because the makeup tear stains on the 

pillow and my shirt must mean something.

Friends don't kiss.

Do they?

I don't know anymore.

I tried going back to wearing my heart on my sleeve.

It's fucking terrifying.

So I pulled back in.

What courage did I once have?

More importantly where did it stem from?

It doesn't matter now.

I'm afraid to take leaps.

But being bitter is tiring

So I'll stick to a slow pace.

I'll crawl if I have to.

I can't be stagnant.

I guess this is a true testament of time.

I've changed.