It started off inocent enough,
As it always does;
You examined my hands,
"You have nice palms"
You said in that sweet singsong voice you use when you dont want to wake my mother,
Your head rested on my chest while we watched a rock documentary about Janis Joplin.
Eventually there were other sleepless nights spent rubbing thighs, elbows, lips, and every crevice of you I ever wanted to explore.
You never wanted to smoke but wanted me to,
I always felt bad but you never mind when my mouth tastes like ****,
I remember once my neck was buried in your neck, and your scent brought a beat to my brain and music to my mind and all I could think was "I want this forever"
For some reason though I think youll just do this for a while and get bored, maybe make some art about it, who knows you usually do, I just wish you meant it when you tell me you love me, for some reason I cant see it, you have everyone on your heels and now after all this time of telling me " just friends, this should be platonic" you just decide that im good enough to be the choice now?
How do you expect me to believe that you love me when you have always told me that love was fake anyway?