"I can't stop thinking about you," he whispered into my ear.
His voice crawled around my mind, down my spine, tingling the tips of my toes.
He felt so close that I could almost shiver at his sweet breath upon my neck.
But, then I woke up.
Those faint memories of a time that I felt wanted... and for what?
For the sick game that little boys play with little girls.
Crushing their hearts, teaching them the subtle art of not feeling.
Making this pain an unavoidable outcome to a game.
We never chose to play.
Yet, here we are.
Those little girls grew up to be bitter women, better women.
We've learned to change the game.
And, you wonder why you're sitting alone on a Friday night?
Because, those bitter better women don't have time for the 'nice guy'.
Those bitter better women are making up for all the lost time.
The times when they, when we, felt unwanted, unseen in the dance line.
And, we know we weren't your first choice.
But, it's okay because as long as I'm getting laid I can pretend like I'm not bitter.
I can pretend that you didn't matter.
And, during the day it's easy to stave off loneliness.
But, my dreams have become nightmares.
Your voice creeps in like a sweet melody.
Music to my ears, slowly suffocating me.
Yet, there's no where I'd rather be,
As long as the promise of death
Comes with the remembrance of your sweet smell, lingering beside me.
As you whisper into my ear, "I can't stop thinking about you."
