Are you what I’ve made of you, or are you different and more disappointing?

Words don’t always come so easy,

I am liquid in your arms, a dream of safety escapes me,

Bitterly cold in this bed,

The familiar ache is all that grasps me.

I have to hold myself together gently and remind me I’m worthwhile.

Little puddings remind me I’m needed.

Love-sick, emphasis on the sick part.

My brain is bored. The thought of you, exhausting.

Maybe if I could see you one more time, I’d realise you were not worth my one-sided suffering.

While you remain intangible, I stay uneasy.

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