In his creases I saw only you.
His heavy, naked arm wrapped around me didn’t make me feel we were in our secret home we barricaded around ourselves to keep the horrendous world at bay.
He doesn’t have your face, showing tiny glimpses of the deep-seated pain of a sordid past we both battle and yet thrive off of everyday.
This is a stupid post and I don’t know why I’m on tumblr at 3AM.
But I still fucking miss you and I don’t know why.
It’s a different guy with the same shit every week. I’m fucking done forever.