One thing I love about Saturday afternoons is thinking.
In my loose bundle of hair in a scrunchy.
Baggy ugly sweat pants.
A shirt that smells like the washers.
It's listening to Ron Pope on my vintage pink radio.
And snuggling under the striped sheets.
Sketching the face of a fired mask.
And the heat of the emptiness between my fingers.
That lay on my conscious thoughts like a heavy blanket.
I figured out, today.
On a lazy Saturday afternoon like every other.
I miss.
The feeling of someone's arm around me.
The linger of a kiss upon my cheek.
The presence of someone else through the screen of the computer.
The thought of someone else thinking of me.
Smiling (cliche as it sounds) for no reason.
And no, I don't, and I never will miss you.
I miss physically being wanted.
Cause emotionally, I'm exactly like your compassion, and your guilt, your common sense and the meaning behind your words.
It's worth nothing.
TUNING INTO: Katy Perry - I'm Still Breathing
I'm weaving a rope, and running all the red lights.
Did I get your attention, cause I'm sending all the signs.
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