Please tell me that you have even the slightest hint of an idea of how much you’re hurting me. The things you say you want to do to me… they hurt. You think that they’re good. You’re enjoying them and you think that I am too, but really I feel like i’m dying inside.
Don’t you know how young and fragile I am? Don’t you know what I’ve been through? It’s only been six months since they died, and you think that I’ve bounced back. They were my first. Their hands were the first to touch my body, and mine were the first to touch theirs. That was only nine months ago.
I hope that you know how much it hurts when you describe what you want to do to me, and I hope that you know that there’s a reason for me pushing you away, telling you that I’m not in the mood.
Honestly, I don’t think I’ll ever be in the mood for you. I know that one day I’ll be in the mood for somebody, but right now I’m still trying to get over him, because even though I tell you that I love you every night, I will always love him more.