I’m not used to you needing me less. Less than what? Than before, I’m happy with. But now you don’t need me at all and maybe I still need you. Maybe I need to try not to need you. Does that mean not to love you?
I’m trying to bend my life around you, make my circumference a little thinner so I’m near but never touching. Just your distant girl. Separate me from the other parts of yourself. I’m so happy you’re happy. It’s so much better this way. I’m so glad this is the problem we’re having, rather than smothering one another with our torn-up skin. I feel you’re leaving me already. I don’t know if you are or not. You’re romantically separate. You love another like me. You fuck all the others. Spread around your needs so you don’t need anyone. No one suffers.
I see where you are, of course. Your position is clear to me. You don’t want me involved and that hurts a little. I just don’t know where I am anymore. I’m so confused. Must be the bisexuality. Make up your fucking mind, girl. Make up your fucking mind. I’ve found a new love though. I love the buzz of the bass in my chest while I sway and Omar plays a little solo just for me. I love when I breathe my love into the night, no one hears. The only sound is the powerful noise emanating from the demigods on stage. No one can see me. No one can hear me. No one knows me. Nothing I do matters. I just need to have a good time. I want to grab someone and kiss them. Love them for a moment the way I love this moment.
I love when I take a hit and it breaks my grasp a little more. It’s scary. It’s exhilarating. It’s everything mamma ever warned me about and I love it. I am in love with it. I want to live there. Maybe if I love it more, I can need you less.