The last thing I thought of

A lot has happened since I was last here. A very nice boy told me he loved me. His hastiness made it all the more endearing and exciting. I hope I never forget the look in his eyes and the ease with which I draped over his lap. Everything was so easy.

When I’m frustrated, I think about him and the way he kissed me that one time. And how I’m sure he’ll never kiss me again. But that’s alright; I’m too selfish as it is. However pleasurable it is to act irrationally. I’m a bad influence on this nice man.

When I’m frustrated, I close my eyes and imagine how different it would be to love him than any other. How comfortable it could be, despite the impracticality. He’s made me wonder if what I call “chemistry” is really more sentiment than sexuality.

All I do is misuse people. Pour my problems into them and suck them back out through their own lips, all tainted with saliva and overall unwanted. I’m aware they use me as well. We both are unwitting slaves to our own desires: tearing each other up looking for treasure.

The last thing I thought of before I came tonight was you. The first thing I thought of afterward was calculus.

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