I only want you, you know. I love
I only want you, you know.
I love you.
I remember all the things we used to talk about, all those wonderful, horrible things. But now you're too busy. How is that? It doesn't even make sense. I know you don't think about anyone else. You don't even look at p***! You're a teenaged guy! How is it that you don't care about s**? Sure, we do it, yeah, but it does nothing for me. It's only so you can 'get rid of it' and get back to guitar.
God, I wish you'd hurt me. I wish you'd tie me down and hit me, or bite me or cut me or burn me. I want it so badly.
You 'punished' me for cutting myself again. I burned myself for years before you stopped letting me, and it felt good. I remember staying up all night, holding needles in flame until they were almost red-hot, then sliding them under my skin. And, god, it felt good. The initial sting was enough to make anyone j*** away, but after a time or two I held them under my skin until they cooled. The only problem is that the scars show more than I thought they would.
But when you caught me, when you yelled at me and were so angry...it was good.
When you ripped open those gashes, it was good, too. When you rubbed the salt into them, when you slapped me, I loved it. But you didn't plan on that. You thought I was scared.
You thought it would make me not want to do it again.
The only reason I haven't is because I know you might leave me, and I love you.
I know you love me, and you're doing it because you're trying to take care of me, but sometimes I wish you'd just let go and act like a guy.
I'm not ugly, at all. I'm not overweight. I'm a size 1. I'm a little on the short side, but not excessively so. I have a cute face, a decently sized chest, a tiny 19-inch waist and good-sized hips. People left and right tell me how gorgeous I am. Everyone I meet is attracted to me. People at work hit on me all the time. At least one of my managers would gladly have s** with me, and he's years older. A fellow crew worker is twenty-three and constantly hits on me. I seem to be the company crush for everyone thirty or younger.
But I'm loyal, and I don't flirt back. Everyone knows about you and I bring you up whenever the situation allows, so they don't get the wrong idea. I wouldn't cheat, even though I'm not getting what I want. I'm happy with our relationship, and I feel as though I'm a horrible, selfish person for not being satisfied with just pleasuring you.
But I love you, and I know that it's enough for you. Your happiness terribly important to me. I just wish you were a little more sensitive to these type of things.