I Don’t Know What We Are. We’re Not Friends And We’re Not Lovers But When You’re Looking At Me

I don’t know what we are. We’re not friends and we’re not lovers but when you’re looking at me like that and your hands are in my hair, I think maybe, maybe, this is something more. I don’t know what we are. I never knew how to tell the difference between you and you’re and how to tie my shoe laces until I was 13. Maybe that’s why I ended up with bloody knees a lot when I was a kid. But I’m not a kid anymore and my knees are still bloody and my mouth is still slipping out “sorry’s” like water every time my mom catches me stumbling through the door at 2 in the morning drunk and vodka pouring out of my pores like perfume. We aren’t friends and we aren’t lovers but when you’re holding me and my face is in your chest, I swear I feel the world. You’re everywhere. In my chest, in my lungs, in my veins, in the way I drink my morning coffee, every fucking where. So maybe we aren’t lovers, but we’re something and that has to count for something even if you never call me back.

I really have to stop wishing for you to call back