I hope this one finds two of us in true despair. This is something I have always wanted to write, but never did, probably out of moral goodness. It's rare to find people who earnestly believe murdering someone through words is not a crime, so yes, keep your judgements ready.
I am afraid how to start this. Nothing sounds appropriate, because there is no stable spot for us anymore. You are like a fish wading inside my throat. I am so grossed by the idea of having a funny fish taste inside my mouth, but squeezing in a nasty experience often turns out to be a good hook? Writing about unpleasant memories when the night is barely left, hitting the snooze button, heading back to get some sleep. It's always the same routine with you, see?
Every night you will put yourself around some women and manage to stick with them for a few more dates, if I am lucky, the matter won't grow tense for us. And if I am not, you'll flip over on my tongue, the aftertaste sour and sordid. So the next time you crawl back to me, I won't melt my barriers again.
Because for some of us, love is a secondhand emotion.
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