I still remember…
the times you held me
in an embrace that declared me yours
even though I never heard you say the words.
I love every moment’s escapade with you.
I love how you’d dance
when you felt bored;
How you’d argue logically with me;
How your cheeks would squeeze lightly
just at the sides, when you rupture into laughter.
I love how you’d gaze secretly at me…
in the midst of stranger eyes
and ears deaf to our desires.
I love how you’d hold me…
or ask me to wait up…
whilst you do nothing but taunt me…
I loved how you undressed me…
how you’d grab a mound of breast
and suckle the imaginary milk
out of them.
I loved how we would just cuddle
and how you’d leave warm pecks
all over me…
How I’d vibrate when you touch
a soft spot and I’d grab you to me.
I love how I’d refuse you
and you’d never argue…
But you know what I’ve come to hate?
I hate that I didn’t understand
what I truly meant to you.
I hate pretending like you
meant nothing to me.
I hate that I had to let you go.
I hate the day I met you.
I hate that I love you.
I hate that I’m even writing this.
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