He talked numbers like it was sport. I wanted tea and a hand on my back. Performance reviews do not belong in my bed. Ever.
Tag: relationships
Date night maths in this city is unhinged. We sat down already behind. London charges you for arriving. Then it charges you for leaving too.
I want the sentence you would actually say. Not a script you borrowed. Awkward and filthy beats cinematic and fake. I hear the difference immediately.
Giving it time is grown. Stretching a maybe for months is not depth. Some people call it patience when they just enjoy the attention buffet.
Vulnerability is treated like an ick now. I joke instead. Then I want to say it in daylight and my mouth does that stupid freeze.
The chase was fun. Then I texted first in daylight and the spark died. Some men only want the me that leaves at dawn anyway.
I do not compete with a lock screen. Eyes on me. Hands on me. If you can scroll you are not as into this, mouth.
Unavailable is not mysterious. It is unpaid labour I do in my head. If he wanted to, that message would already be sitting right there.
I can spot a bad idea in a nice coat. I still say yes. Chemistry feels like proof. It is usually just familiar old trouble.
Good coat, dead eyes, phone already out. I do it too. The city rewards looking sorted. It never even asks if you even slept tonight.