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.

Lips meeting if only to find something that isn’t there.

Because, why the hell not?

Just a little longer I’ll bear.

Pressing closer in hopes to feel-

So irritated- I reel.

Frustration pricks at my attention

Cool hands. Cool breath. Damn. Nothin’

A sigh and a swift step away into another’s chest

Taller, he’s taller and his smile knowing.

A cigarette proffered. A hand shake. A Lighter.

A drag and soothing warmth.

Good enough. No. Better.