Hey,

Lover,

I just want you to know that

sometimes I crave you and I can’t get enough of your chocolate skin and it makes me (ever so) slightly

unreasonable.

I just want you to know that

I ask you why you love me because

if I know the reason, then I can

keep doing it so that

you keep doing it.

So that you don’t stop.

Because I’ve had the end of love before and it broke things around me that I tried, so hard, to hold in place.

I’m not interested in jigsaw piecing back my life together. So let’s not waste any more time. Unless my time is wasted with you, which is exactly how I want to while away hours while you’re by my side.

So.

When I ask you if you love me

or if you came back for me

or if you’ll love me if I’m paralyzed and hot young things who can walk are flocking to your inbox to console you over the tragedy of

me

just indulge my parallel universe thoughts.

And do say it, no matter how many times I ask you – I’m trying to grasp how you love. If the love is there for no reason at all

because I have been loved for other reasons, for what I can do or what I can give until I had nothing left to give, and no fucks as well –

so just tell me.

Lover.

Because I need,

to know.