I still sit there, on the couch furthest from the television in the lounge.
From there I can get a glimpse out of the curtained, front window.
I used to sit there when I was waiting for you to come see me in excitement.
Now I still sit here waiting for you to come see me in an utter ball of depression, as I know it won't happen.
But I will still sit here and listen to each car go past and compare it to how yours sounded and hope with every part of me that you come back.

I can not seem to describe it the way I would like but, it is as if, sometimes, I am able to focus on everything I touch.
Getting into this sort of zone, I guess you could call it, where it is like my senses of touch and feel are heightened.
Like when I scrunch up a piece of paper, I can feel every crease and crinkle.
So you can not imagine what it feels like when I get to touch your skin.
I focus in and feel every line, every wrinkle, every vein, every hair follicle, every mark.
God you are the most interesting person to trace.
You make me feel at home when you hold me and our bodies meet, like two galaxies colliding.
You feel like a warm bed on a cool night.
A cup of coffee made just right on a Sunday morning.
I can not wait to caress my fingers upon you once again.

I lay on the bed, bearing my naked soul for only him.
I was open and vulnerable.
Eyes wide, he began to dig deep through my mind, hungry for more, leaving me to catch my breath.
Such passion I had never seen before.
Sheet gripping, eye rolling, heavy breathing type passion.
The way he looked at me, with a smirk, as if he had just caught his prey and taken the first proud bite.
I am his.
I lay on the bed.
He sat there with such appreciation in his eyes, after consuming my spirit, as if I were his piece of art.
As if we were frozen in that very moment.
Such mesmerizing eyes, his gaze excited me more than anything else.
I am his.

What a hopeless excuse for a human, you plague my brain like a cancerous disease.
Tarnishing my will to ever trust again.
Your breath is an utter waste, using up oxygen, you still live on unaffected by your wrong-doings.
To want you dead would be too kind, as you deserve nothing bar heartbreak and to never find love, slowly killing your mentality until you yourself become nothing.
You are no longer worthy of a single thought in my clear and beautiful mind.
No more shall your name constrict my vocal cords, restrict my breathing or bring a tear to my eye.
This shall be my last thought of you. My last mention as you are vile and I am happy.
'What a hopeless excuse for a human.'

**THE END

He frustrates me, more than you could ever imagine.
Twisting my mind until I become dizzy and disorientated from the confusion.
The web he weaves of contradictions and uncertainties cuts into my soul, with sharp words. Sharp enough to **** someone, or bring them into insanity.
Constant on and off thoughts of "does he want me?" cloud my brain like a song; but I keep going back for more, as he is addictive.

He frustrates me, more than you could ever imagine; but my God those eyes, hypnotic, bright.  That smirk, as if he knows he has me wrapped around his finger.
And I am, he feels like home, in the most beautiful of ways.
Warm skinned and cold-hearted, without even a word he keeps me. I am held captive by that gaze, my God those eyes!

*He frustrates me.