I am hungry for someone.
Not for the left over lust from too many shots of tequila at the end of a lonely night, when you throw your arms around the best looking stranger left in the bar and pretend to be satisfied, but every kiss turns to humiliation when morning comes calling. I am waiting impatiently for the person who is supposed to transform my life. I am starving.
Far too young to be having a midlife crisis, too old to be drifting so aimlessly. I keep thinking maybe life will begin to make sense if I hit that next milestone, but it never does. I remember her scent, it clung to him like toxin, and I bit down on his promises till I drew blood. Old mistakes still haunt me, old friends have become perfect strangers. We don’t say hello anymore, I miss that. I feel empty.
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