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The thought of his hands gently running up under the back of my shirt, claiming a part of me that no one had claimed before was all too real. Almost as if it would always be just a fantasy that I thought about in my college English class. His warm hands exploring parts of me that no one had explored before, kept my mind completely in a daze. The screen on my phone lights up, only barely snapping me out of it. His name was a comfort, as for only a second I knew without a doubt that we had thought about each other at the exact same moment.

A Tissy.

He calls me his pretty girl,

Telling me how all of him is mine.

My insides start quivering every time he says my name, as if it’s the first time I’ve ever heard it.

When he calls me baby, it’s as if he’s telling me he’ll always hold me in his arms.

God, this boy, might just have me in a tissy.

Pretty Boy.

It’s how the light reflects off your eyes, the color of honey, always glowing.

It’s your smile, and how contagious it is.

It’s how loud you are,

It’s how quiet you are,

It’s your cackle,

It’s how honest your eyes always are.

It’s how random and weird you are.

It’s what makes you a pretty boy,

It’s what makes looking at you impossible.

What would you deem intimacy?

You had pushed me against the car, something you had casually said you would do just a half hour beforehand. Our lower halves pressed up against each other as if the space would kill us. As if the parts of us that had always been unsteady in each other’s arms had finally steadied themselves. I could feel the warmth of your back, as my fingers cried to dance on your skin, through your thin hoodie. Keeping my eager hands and curious mind at bay seemed almost impossible.


Even long after I had left your arms, I could still feel your hands on my hips,

like you had claimed them as your own,

As if they’d always be warm from your touch.

Forever being pulled towards you, leaving no space between us.

Almost Maddening.

You had grabbed me from behind, your arms wrapped securely around me.

Slowly sweeping the hair from my neck, you had replaced it with your head.

Stealing the breath from my lungs, as I held in any noise trying to escape me.

You had no idea how warm you truly were, and how I didn’t want your soft skin and gentle breath to abandon the dormant part of me that you had awakened from its hibernation.

Trust Issues.

Last night you said, “it’s just me and you,” “You can say anything” you don’t know how much hearing that terrified me.

I whispered back to you, “but it’s you”. If only you knew how much it scares me to let go with you.

I honestly wish it was just me and you,

-and not the ghosts of all of those we have both loved. Making me always look back scared that one day your heart will not only seek me out.


I only really could look at you one time,

I’ve never really been good at making eye contact.

But I swear that you hugged me in a million different ways,

I hadn’t been out of my car for 5 minutes, and already had your body wrapped around me.

I could hear your heartbeat, it was sporadic and loud.

Your whole body was shaking,

it took everything in me for mine not to do the same way.

I think I could’ve stayed in your quivering arms for a bit longer.


Sometimes I wonder how long I’ll have to wait to find someone worth loving. Someone who will watch horrible movies with me, and let me be completely myself. I’m not yet okay enough to let someone love me fully. I have an overwhelming need to love someone but I’m still surrounded by fear. When someone falls in love with me, I want it to be for my smile, my weird jokes, or the fact that I have never missed a ‘Law in Order: Special Victims Unit’ marathon. When someone falls in love with me I want them to want to discover and trace every birthmark, freckle, tattoo, and scar on my body. When someone falls in love with me I want them to love me even when I’m throwing my computer across the room over a BL K-drama. I want them to answer the phone every time I watch a sad movie, just because they don’t want me to cry alone. I want them to want to be there, I want them to love those parts of me without me having to bring it up. I want them to actively try to talk to me, I want them to give as much as I do. I want to be able to love them without being scared that I’m not the only one.

What’s wrong with having a new home?

Why do I still feel reserved for him? It’s dead and gone, let me be free. I want to be free to succumb to the home I have been finding in another’s arms. I’m not spoken for, let me be free to cuddle on the sofa after a hard day in a new set of arms that feel like home.

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