You wrote me a song. Not literally, you just sent me one.
What did I do? I wrote you a book. Literally.
A book of you and I. A book of a beautiful tragedy that is our love.
But baby, can we really call this love? I mean, we fuck once in the blue moon, and then you disappear. I disappear. Until the next time our bodies need each other.
Then we get together.
I have to admit though, I have always loved how you text me when your body needs me.
You never start with just HEY, or HI, or HELLO.
One time, you started with : You busy tonight?
You know I can never be busy for you. Why do you even ask?
Another time it was : You know, I think our story will make a beautiful book.
It does make a good book actually. I can’t wait for you to read it.
And the latest: You just sent me a song. No Greetings, no words, no Hey , listen to this song , it reminds me of us.
None of that bullshit.
You just sent it, and you knew I would listen to it and know exactly what you wanted to say.
You miss me, you need me.
Or rather, your body misses me, your body needs me.
It doesn't matter to me what you meant anyway, because you know what? I am really done with these games we play.
Why can’t we just ever say what we mean?
Why is it that when I come to your place, or when you come to mine , we never sit down and talk about us?
And now you think I am just like one of those girls. Girls who can’t differenciate fucking and feelings.
Let me tell you something baby. Yes I can. I have been doing it for four years, haven’t I?
It’s just that, I am tired. I am tired of writing and rewriting the pages of our book.
Tired of hoping and unhoping.
Tired of fucking and unfucking.
But you know what ?
I listened to that song. And for this one last time, I am coming to yours.
To fuck you one last time.
After this, I am done. I really am done with your fucks.