The Unrequited

by Saffron A. Kent

I wonder how our conversation would go if we ever talked. I wouldn’t even know what to say to him, except, Hi, I’m Layla, and you remind me of a song.

I’m under scrutiny, and I hate it. I feel everyone judging me, picking me apart. It feels like home, and I want to disappear.

I stay up late reading. There’s so much to discover, and I’ve been living inside this fog for so long. I feel like time is running out on me. I’ll probably die before reading all the books out there.

Same girl same

Should I feel shy around him now? Should I want to look away from his beautiful eyes now that he knows I’m a crazy stalker who comes on people’s legs?

SHES A NUTTER BUT I LOVE HER 😭😭

“Because unrequited love is like a dead, useless organ. It’s functionless. It’s sicker than a disease. You can cure a disease, but you can’t fix a defective soul. That’s the most frustrating thing in the world, to be that powerless.”

Because I’m a girl who’s not supposed to be the love of someone’s life, not with my selfishness. I was meant to live in the shadows and secrets. I can be Thomas’ secret, for a little while, at least—until I absorb all of his pain and set him free.

😩

I feel like a bleeding Cinderella who just sucked off her dirty Prince Charming, and now, instead of fitting my boots on my feet, he’s taking them off.

🙃🙃

I shudder thinking about yesterday when he forced me to remember his name as I sucked him off. Oh God, his cock. His taste. The length of it, the weight. I could write poems about it, and I’m not even a legit poet yet. And his words. My cunt is still wet from his filthy poetry, as if my lust never went to sleep.

🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣

“But tell you what, I won’t spoil the fun for you. I won’t take your ass right now. One day when you’re so mindless with my cock pounding into your pussy that you don’t know up from down, I’ll shove it in your tight little hole, making you scream.”

RAAAAAAH

“This is what I think about,” he bites. “It doesn’t even matter if you’re around. This. Bursting every door down so I can get to your pussy. All I can think about is fucking you, Layla. All the time. Every time. You’re in my fucking blood, and I’ll tear apart anyone who dares to fucking touch you.”

Stop it

“You’re so fucking wet, Layla.” Thomas groans into my skin. “You’re always so smooth and wet and hot. I like to think you keep it that way for me. You keep your pussy warm for me, don’t you? You sleep with your hand tucked between your legs, cupping your cunt so it stays warm and toasty for when I fuck it.”

HAHAHAHAHA FILTH

Bravery is picking up a pen and writing. Bravery is gouging out words from inside you and then imprinting them on a page to make them permanent. Bravery is knowing they might not ever be read by anyone, that the art you leave behind, the contributions you make to the world, might never be known by anyone. Bravery is knowing all of that but doing it anyway.