January 2019.

Something was different in the way you texted me this time.

We have this thing, you text-we meet-we fuck-you leave-we don't have contacts for a few months.

But you texted me two weeks after we last meet.

You said you missed me, that you though about me for the last two days, how you would touch me, hold me.

Why did you bring my hopes up? Why? If you knew you weren't coming?

Why send me all those text. Why mess with my head, my feeling?

You didn't come that day.

But you did text me the next morning, like we weren't supposed to meet the evening before.

You asked if I was home. I replied that I wasn't.

For the first time I denied you.

But why do I regret it? Because you ignored me after you got my message.

Why? Why can't I stop loving you?

Why can't you love me?