i'm tired of waiting. i'm tired of initiating. fucking talk to me, please?
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i was leaning on him on the couch, simply because the other boy was laying on top of me, trying to tickle me, & i had no other place to move. as soon as i lift up, he says simply, "why did you move? you were warm". & i move back, become comfortable for awhile more.
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"have i been acting differently?"
"you did, while you were going out with him."
"...how do you mean?"
"...when you're trying to please someone... you're always scared you're going to fuck it up. it just... it shone, while you were with him."
i never thought he knew me so well.
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i like ceiling fan high fives.
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i have lost every creative bone in my body. i cannot write, not for my life. i'm bland. no substance. no inspiration.