I am alone in this. Confusion is my best friend and my worst enemy. You come to me in my thoughts, you could be in my dreams for all I know. Just one more time. Just one more kiss. Just one more soft touch, one more grip of the hips, licking of the lips. One last soft whisper in the ear, one last taste of my flesh, one last tender tug at my breast. Then will I be okay? Then will I be friends with confusion for good? Is that even possible?
Sometimes I hate you and you have no clue. That part of you is slipping into memory, and from there, you cannot escape. I blame myself wholeheartedly. You being oblivious is good and bad. My choices don't feel like choices anymore. I'll just let you slip away, into memory.
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"The role of a writer is not to say what we all can say, but what we are unable to say." --Anaïs Nin
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