These days, I can’t get out of my head and I’m not sure whats worse, inside of it or reality. The head aches are gone but the fatigue that comes with obsession is unreal. I want him to run me a bath but my mind is in other places and I wish I could relax enough to look at his face. There’s child killers with no feelings that can’t keep from strangling their siblings. It’s enough to make my stomach turn. I beg him to read to me at bedtime. I curl up with my head on a pillow and a leg on his. The rhythm of his voice is enough to change the world. He has his jammie pants on and smells like takeout and birch. Under my own blanket I have his t-shirt on with my favorite sexy undies and my hair is wild. I shaved for him but I have no energy to do the things we do, even though I’d love the release. He feels so good next to me and his words so good inside me. I hate to even let my mind have those words of his, I want them for me to keep. These girls out here getting pop poetry tatted on them, and if I could, I’d have layers of his words stuffed inside me. They are in a way but its never enough. Nothing ever is.