I want you to make me tap out while simultaneously hearing me beg for more.
I'd love to scream that every inch of me belongs to you because we both already know that it does.
Every. Inch. Yours.
I often wonder how much power I give you by sharing that information. By explaining that no one else knows what you know. Feels what you feel. Or touches me the only way I need to be touched.
It's a gift and a curse loving you the way I love you, wanting you in a way I can't yet have you, and fiending for you in the most unhealthiest of ways.
You've been the source of my insomnia lately but I enjoy the pain of not sleeping. I'd rather document the way you inhabit my mind at the oddest of hours.
Not as a reminder to myself,
but as a letter to your heart, constantly reassuring that you will never have to question what I felt.