The way I felt when I was talking with you, when your name lit up my phone screen. The thoughts I had of you at night as I fell asleep. The restlessness that crept in when I waited (for days) for you to respond. My desire for your body, your touch, your lips brushing against my ear as you whisper sweet nothings. The ache I wanted you to ease. The way I fell for your attention when we first started talking. The yearning for the short term satisfaction as we decided what we would want for the long term. The hope that you would want something as much as I did. The giddiness I had when you said I was yours. Any feelings I may still have for you, because it’s clearly not worth waiting for you to decide what you want. The way your sweetness melted the ice that built up the first time you disappeared, and how I hold it close, hoping that you’ll come back with it. The need I have to obsessively check my phone to see if you’ve actually read my messages yet. The temptation of texting you to see if it will finally make you respond. Every thought I have of you, and the way they make me yearn for you, even though we haven’t talked for days. The pain and sadness and anger I now carry because it’s over between us. Because your non-answer is all the answer I needed from you.
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