I want you—the real you, all of you.
Not just the good parts I once romanticized,
the picture-perfect snapshots I built in my head.
I want you when you’re too sick to leave the bed,
when I’m moving quietly through the kitchen,
finishing those dishes you hate doing,
stirring dinner while the house breathes around us.
I want you when you drag me to your family’s Thanksgiving,
when their polite smiles are nothing but a lie
and I pretend not to notice.
I want you when your world turns dark and empty,
when thoughts close over you like deep water,
when nothing seems to touch you at all.
So please,
bother me.
Sep 15, 2025
Sep 15, 2025 at 8:24 PM UTC
I want you—the real you, all of you.
Not just the good parts I once romanticized,
the picture-perfect snapshots I built in my head.
I want you when you’re too sick to leave the bed,
when I’m moving quietly through the kitchen,
finishing those dishes you hate doing,
stirring dinner while the house breathes around us.
I want you when you drag me to your family’s Thanksgiving,
when their polite smiles are nothing but a lie
and I pretend not to notice.
I want you when your world turns dark and empty,
when thoughts close over you like deep water,
when nothing seems to touch you at all.
So please,
bother me.