You suggested you stay over at my house. Habit is magnetic, and lack is the same. You had never stayed over before.
I’m always asking of you. And you only ask of me when you have nothing better to do. Here I am, listening to what you recommend. Reading what you like. Sitting by you in class when you want it. And it’s leaving a mark on my soul.
You speak with me, But only when my turmoil is so great that it’s like a drama, salacious and salty with unshared stories, One must know what happens next.
And you’re beautiful, and that catches me, Caught in the snares of awe and empathy. And misery welcomes company, and we’ve each enough misery to warrant one another’s company for a million years.
You like to play with me, dangling a glimpse of affection on a string. And I wish I didn’t need it. But I want it because it feels like a balm to my despondency. Make me feel something. But even my sleeping mind does not delude me; When I know We will not happen.
I seek not to change the way We are, somehow. Don’t ask me why. I could not answer.