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He clears his throat, like there might be something stuck in it, then his voice comes. It’s quiet and surprisingly sweet. “Oliver.”
in that moment, he healed me.
And when things get too quiet, all I’m left with are the thoughts in my head.
The two of us, drawn to each other like moths to a flame.
She looks beautiful and forlorn all at once.
He calls to me the same way I call to him. Desperately. Thoroughly. Without even meaning to.
I’d rather be drowning in you.
It agitates me to feel like I have found someone who fits me so perfectly and to know I can’t keep her—not really. Not the way I want.
I live in fear of not being enough.
“It felt like I couldn’t breathe when you were gone.”
There’s a softness between us. Few words are exchanged. We say enough with every touch.
It’s soft and desperate and fucking tragic.
I crawl into a bed that still smells like her and fall apart.
He soaks me in, like I’m water after he’s been stranded in the desert.
