It was one box. It was mine. I would have said yes if you asked. Instead I come home hungry and start a proper grudge.
Tag: boundaries
I can feel when you are half in the room. Hands on me, eyes on a screen, I go cold. Be here. Notifications can wait.
Someone muted the house chat mid row. Now we communicate through cupboard doors and passive tea making. Modern flatshare conflict is just delivered on silent.
Five opinions, three voice notes, one screenshot. By the time I text him I am not me. I am a committee in a tight dress.
If you want sex, say sex. If you want me, say that. Lets see where it goes is a man keeping the exit door oiled.
Nice is manners in public. Kind is what he does when nobody is watching and you need a lift, not just some cheap little compliment.
The sex ended and the customer service started. I do not want a form. I want you to read my body and then shut up.
He replies just enough to keep me warm. Never enough to make a plan. Benching is the new ghosting with better manners and worse timing.
Kettle on, someone half dressed, my cereal in the crossfire. I live here. I work early. Your new friend does not need any kitchen tours.
Say casual. Say dating. Do not hide behind we will see. I can do filthy and still want a sentence that does not wriggle away.