There is nothing too wrong with you..
You are not a bad man. Not a particularly sad man. And you are not a prude. Hardly ever rude, and I have not found several things wrong with you.. Yet still, you are not the one.
There is little love in my bones for you. I grow comfortable around you when you are silent, and your body breathes beside me, and I am allowed to do what it is that I do best, which is to lay in silence. But when you speak, when you part your lips, and open your beak, my heart thumps a thousand beats, because your breath, nor your tongue, speaks like his..
I do not want to kiss you wildly in the rain at 3am.. There are better things that I could do with my time, such as reading novels with my feet perched up on my window sill. Yet still, I fold into you, not every night, but from time, to time, because I am ever so lonely when my eyes hit the light.
I fell in love with a remarkable man, but he did not shove his heart into my palms, he kept it ever so safely, wrapped over so neatly, and tucked away into childhood jewellery boxes. And so I find myself here, with you, heart beating at 100mph, not from passion, not from love, but from that gnawing feeling.. That I am not where I am supposed to be. And if I stay? I may just become too engulfed, trapped, and never to be free..
My heart bleeds for the women, not in love, not in lust..but longing for company.
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