Last night was another dream. About being in love, about feeling wanted. It was your rough hands stretching my body out, laying me over the couch. It was smooth lips pressed hard against mine, trying so hard to steal my breath. It was the foggy glass and bodies pressed so hard against each other they started to shake. Last time I dreamed about this it was ethereal. It was white walls and covers and the sunlight catching on your skin and your eyes gleaming as we shared glances. This time it was an old, musty room, a comfort in deep drapes of red and plum, a canapé victorian couch, ornamental rugs, lamps just barely glowing. We were clandestine, hiding so close together that I could feel your breath in my ear as your fingers jittered across my body to my lips. "Shh.." We were a secret tucked away, as you rolled me over and kissed my hips. One. Two. Kissed my lips. I couldn't help but smile and curl my toes. My fingers dug into the crimson fabric and my back arched and there we were, entangled. Last night was another dream. About being the first choice, about feeling special, about knowing I was worth it. This morning was another nightmare. Waking up in bed alone, my back arching from pain and not pleasure. The morning sun shining dully because you're not here.
Last night was just another reminder that you will never be mine.
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