Warning: This work has been rated 16+.
I describe myself in satire, something I know you won't understand. Anything I could do, to push yourself away from me. Anything to do about my nasty habits or my repulsive nature. Anything I could do to not confront our own feelings, one that you said you had but only sounded like a distant hum from the noisy static of the televised world. You are not for me, and you let me know that every time I let you down. Yet you keep coming back. Like pangea colliding once again, you are my continent. But we were bound to drift, in theory.
You told me you loved me tonight. You whispered it in my ear while I pretended to be asleep. As your words echoed into my ear, I forced my body to be still. It was a private conversation that I had been too nosy to ignore, like listening to people talking to one another on a subway, and I wasn't sure what response to say, anyways. Eventually I know you'd say it to me while I was awake, and I couldn't decide if I was happy I had time to figure it out or if I was upset that I'd only hear the words while I secretly deceived you.
This is what it feels like. This is the negative feeling I always wanted, the ultimate betrayal. “This is the kind of love I want,” I said, “one where I can only expect a text when I know you've done something really awful.” nobody understood, but I felt love only when your lips grazed hers or when I found lipstick stains on your sheets. Then, and only then, I knew both how much and how little I really meant to you.