Who I am.

insight fortythree it's just a like, just a double tap on a pretty girl. if that's all it is, why do I care so much? why do I tear out my mind and flash back to the time you brushed my hair in the mirror, smiling when I blushed? why do I see us sitting laughing in the conservatory, you clinging to my arm in a side on hug? why do I feel a pinch of pain when I pass you in the corridor and you act like I'm just another stranger? why do I smile when you laugh or smile, when your name pops up on my phone just for "streaks"? why do I feel like i do e why do i even try to make conversation and be nice when I know you hate my existence? well, I guess I don't blame you. I can't delete the photos. I can't erase the memories. I can't fade the love inside of me that makes me sob silently in bed over someone who probably never liked me. I can't not love that smile, or that laugh. I can't miss you in the crowd because I can always recogn...

insight twentyfive oh fuck it's bad. so so bad. i am addicted and i don't think there's a cure im addicted to your taste, your lips connecting with mine, soft then all at once. the subtle warmth of your hands that trail up and down my back, skin naked to your touch. i crave your strong shoulders that mould around my arms, allowing me to bury my head into your chest as i laugh. i miss your smile, the blushing of your cheeks as you say something most adorable with your hair flopping the wrong way. i want your body next to mine, the urge to be within a noses touch, the knowing that you're there, even when i am sleeping. i need your laugh, the different genuine laugh you do around me, the one i crave the most. im addicted to your scent, the same smell i can identify anywhere, the scent that envelopes my lungs as i squeeze you tight against my face. i need your hands, your big rough hands that draw spirals on my skin, relaxing me into a calm dream of empty though...