Original fiction; oc/oc; pg-13; 217 words
The bad ideas aren't so crystal-clear.
your smell clings to me
(hair, skin, clothes)
canceling out woody scent of the weed i smoked earlier
the cheap smell of natty and the sweat leftover from the dance floor.
it's past the witching hour and into the lonely hour,
the dark of night where all your past mistakes gang up on you
and the bad ideas aren't so crystal-clear.
i can't sleep because of it.
you're all over me except in the way that i want.
i thought the third time would have been a charm.
there's nothing charming about spilling tears and feelings everywhere.
and how could you even want me now that you see who i really am?
wind chills the room, forcing tingles down my spine.
my bed never seems to be warm enough,
even as i burrow deeper into the big sweaters meant to hide everything i can't stand
the blankets meant to insulate my cold skin
because there's something that strikes me as so horribly depressing about sleeping alone in a cramped twin extra-long.
it's what sinks me at night.
as i finally give in to sheer exhaustion
i can almost feel where your body should be wrapped around me
and if your mind
(and your heart)
wasn't still wrapped around her
maybe you would be.