To love or be loved

Tonight. As I cling to the plastic heated with water, wrapped in a pillow that lets me pretend I’m hugging someone that cares, I think of you. And how there is someone laid next to you, missing out on the opportunity to never let you go, by choice. And how I’m stuck, pretending it’s me. Pretending it’s you I am holding. Not a bottle of tepid water wrapped in an old pillowcase. And how I’m trying so hard to reason with myself as to why you avoided me in the halls last month, because that’s how long I remember each moment. Questioning why we no longer speak when I’m lucky enough to brush past you. Why my heart still flutters despite the ice with which you speak to me. And as I long for this warmth to be replaced by the warm of your bare chest beneath my soft cheek, I wonder only as to why your eyes dart from mine when I endeavour to hold your gaze long enough for you to realise.


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