Sometimes I wonder how I could have ever fallen in love with someone like you; I fell in love with the deceit, the lies, the passion. All of it consumed me and I couldn’t bear to break away. So I sit here wondering. I still want to believe with every ounce of my being that some of the words you tell me are true. Whether it be “I love you” or “I want to fuck you.” I want- no, need- to know that there is something inside of you that yearns for me too. It has gotten to the point that it doesn’t matter if your feelings are genuine or if your heart has fallen in love with mine; all that matters is that you desire me one way or the other. Desire me, won’t you?

I keep needing you to desire me, to long for me at all hours of the night. Even if you kiss another’s lips as you sip more alcohol by the minute, I need you to come home and kiss mine at the end of the night. How petty is it; this need for you to come home to me. When did I become this desperate woman in need of a lover, a partner, the fitting piece to her puzzle? How has this desperation grown so much that I will swallow my pride and pretend you don’t touch other woman’s breasts, that you don’t feel every inch of their skin with your moist tongue like you used to do with mine?

A part of me wishes all of these questions could be answered, but a part of me knows it is the mystery of it all that keeps us alive. So I continue to wonder why I fell in love with someone like you, but then I remember it is because I am guilty of the same crime. We are vindictive, jealous, selfish people; we can only satisfy ourselves.