I haven’t heard from you in days.

The last time we really talked,

There was excitement,




We were mutually interested,

and I had started to fall for the person

you are,

The person I think,

I thought,

you are…

You were?

It’s been 4

Almost 5


I obsessively reviewed

Every moment.

Every text.

Every email.

Every WhatsApp,

Every… Everything.

And you want me.

On paper,

You are at least planning

To Fuck. the. Hell. Out. Of. Me.

And I want it all.

I’m not even sure

If you’re my boyfriend,

But I want your body

intertwined with mine.

Daily. Weekly. For now.

But I’m hurt.

I haven’t heard from you.

Not even if you’re busy.

Not even if you’re uninterested.

Not even if something happened.

You told me you were into me.

You told me not to worry.

About you.

About us.

But you don’t try.

I hate that you don’t try.

I don’t think it’s too much to ask.

Do you?

That’s obviously rhetorical,

As I haven’t heard from you.

And that hurts most.

Send an emoji.

Tell me you’re busy.

Tell me you’re not that into me.

Let me hate you

Let me feel disgust

Let me hurt,

With intention.

You told me things

That I began to believe.

I gave you my body,

To ogle,

To release to,

To enjoy.

But we haven’t fucked.

Not yet.

I would have given it all to you.

I would have been your private dancer.

I would have been your “cool girl”.

As much as I despise your ghosting,

I miss you, too.