You called me last night at four am, drunk. Let me rephrase, I answered your call at four in the morning and you were drunk. You rambled on and on about how you wished my long legs would wrap themselves around you. That was a dirty thing to say.
After many attempts, I stopped your drunken monologue and hung up the phone. And this is what I wish I could tell you…
Remember that time you called me baby? I do. Your lips let “ti amo” fly from your mouth and let it wrap itself around me. I didn’t know what “ti amo” meant. Upon realization you told me you loved me in the most beautiful language known to man, my cheeks held a blush. Remember when you called me every night when you traveled to Italy? You missed me, and I miss you.
I hate it when you ask me to fuck you.
I want to make love to you.
I want you to love me like I still love you.
I can never tell you this. You’ll make a mockery of me and that’s not fair.
You made me believe I was desired for the first time in my short life. I was ready to jump into a pool of you, but you sucked out all of the water before my fingertips even reached the surface. I fell into a pit of what could’ve been, and here I lay mangled. Come pick me up please.