Hate

I hate that I miss you
The way your hands felt on my back
My waist. My lips. My face.
I hate that no one has touched me like you did.
That no ones hands feel like yours.
I hate that I hate the way I can’t remember how your lips felt on mine.
Or how your voice sounded when you said you loved me.
I hate feeling so upset because of you.
Oh. But most of all, I hate that I still love you.

miserable.

Can I never come home again?

sad.

Can school just last all year so I never have to come home?

Welp I’m an awful person.

Being half skeleton nbd.

Cute boys who can do smoke tricks, unf sexy as fuck.

Funny how I came to college to get away from high school-esque bullshit. And yet here I am, dealing with the same shit.

©