people need people

It seems easy, when he has a fantastic smile and strong arms and the ability to make you see the best in someone before you’ve even gotten to know them.

But he’s not real.

He’s someone you’ve made up in your head. Someone you’re making shitty excuses for. You say his ego is wounded, not just full. You say his words are venom because he’s immature, not just because he can get away with it.

They’re pretty lies. But they aren’t real. They aren’t tangible. They aren’t fucking real.

And they never will be. He’s a flight risk. He runs. He breaks free of any commitment and only calls at 11 pm. You knew this. You know this. Stop giving in.

Someday, you will find someone great. You won’t have to wait until 11. There will be no games. You’ll feel safe and respected and loved.

So quit wasting your time. He’s not real. Don’t settle for the man who makes you wait until 11 when your bedtime is 10.

I’m far away right now, packing boxes and reliving memories. I’m imagining my apartment and I’m imagining us rolling around in my bed. My neighbor can’t hear so you’re pinning my arms to the headboard and I’m whispering your name. I’m thinking about you.

Sex is easy to talk about. It’s easy to think about. It’s easy to use and abuse in order to avoid getting deeper. So I think of you inside of me and I don’t touch the heart beating wildly underneath rows of bones, and I pretend I don’t feel a pang of missing you as my breath quickens.

You’re smoking again. It’s horrible for your lungs, but the bar is closed and the stress is building as you prepare for a long week. You think about how you got here. You think about how life turns out. You think about the lost money and the wasted time and you’re angry. You’re not thinking about me.

I’m swallowing extra sleeping pills again. It’s horrible for my brain, but I haven’t slept in weeks and I think I might kill myself if I don’t stop reliving memories. They knock me out but I wake up three times and at 6 am, I finally get out of bed. I’m thinking about you.

We both use and abuse our vices to avoid living in our heads, hope we’ll be numbed, hope we’ll forget the circumstances. That even when you’re home, you’ll be 300 miles away. That even when you’re home, we won’t speak for weeks. That even when you’re home, my bed will be empty, and I’ll be thinking about you in my sheets, and you won’t be thinking about me.