This is all about getting high.
It's that high that I feel...and as much as I am not fucking human and no substance will ever make me addicted to it...love is not a goddam substance.
It's not something I can smoke or drink. I can feel it...and that's the addicting thing. Thank God it's not love that I feel but I am cursed by my imagination. It cannot be stopped and it is merely...I don't know how merely though...there's the idea.
I love the feeling of her hand in my hair. Her palm on my chest.
Her voice on the phone.
She sleeps silently.
Hardly wakes up.
She has her friends.
She has her opinions.
She has her feelings.
"Truth is I think I'm starting to really like you, but I don't want to like you. I'm more concerned with keeping you in my life as a friend. I feel like you're someone who will always be there and if we ever took it further then there's always the chance to get hurt and lose you. Also like you said tonight you don't care what people think butI do and as far as everyone is concerned you're gay and I mean I've seen the different side of you and I don't think it now but I mean I don't want people to look at me like that and question everything...I'm sorry I'm horrible."
My sexuality is keeping me from getting love? No...
It's my...I don't even fucking know...sensitivity. I'm a pushover?
I'm the nice guy.
She's a badass.
She told me she does this to herself. She fucks things up. She can go out with a guy, not even going out...she'll watch a fucking stoner movie (Pineapple Express) while getting wasted...flirting with someone...and fucking him.
Come on, Topher...Chris...admit that you're fucking jealous of the tall black man who is a good fuck. She doesn't see a future with him. She can't even care about him. She's been in love...and maybe I've been there too...and she doesn't want to be the rebound to that.
"That's disgusting."
Where can we go?
My imagination takes off...her parents are adorable. She's not pop culture savvy at all yet isn't sheltered. She gets out, gets around, has friends, has a life and I'm afraid that she knows how to live it more than I know how to live mine.
She doesn't want to change who I am.
Smoking pot I don't care for...but I love the idea of having fun with her...no matter what we do. I can have fun with her and she can have fun with me. With me we don't need alcohol. We don't need... weed. We really don't need anything at all...
it's all fucking background noise.
Where can you find a friend and keep a friend beyond sex?
We don't even need sex. I'm fine by that, sure (for now)...
...but the problem is...I don't like to share. It's an "only child" trait. Perhaps a childish trait?
I knew it was going to be this way. The "she" I imagined with my fucking imagination. "Her."
I knew "she" was going to be addicted.
...to something.
I knew "she" was going to be able to get it elsewhere.
...to fuck.
I knew that I wouldn't want to change anything about "her."
...anything.
I also knew that I was going to scare "her" by wanting more than someone to fuck. I don't fuck around...and maybe that's my problem.
I don't care what other people think when I am happy. Keep me a secret, and I will understand. Keep me to yourself...that turns me on.
Turn me on...and you can't turn me off.
Sometimes you can't even help turning me on.
...but don't make me share you.
I can't do that!
She knows what I want now.
She knows that she can hurt me.
...and that is fucking scary.
It's who I am, though. I can't be ashamed about that. Nobody can hold themselves back from desire...that's not how you live.
Please don't be afraid of this.
It's nothing yet, there is nothing to be afraid of. My insane imagination, my curse, is that I think way too into this. I can carry myself away.
Away...and maybe I should just fucking take you with me. Fuck friends. I have friends. I don't love them. I hardly trust them. I don't need them. This is why people don't like me. This is why people have a problem with me. I don't need them. "They're just people," as you so eloquently put it. Fuck "friends," maybe I just fuck you. Get that out of the way. I say we take it slow...but that's scary to you, no?
How about I scare you.
Kelsey, my little pastry chef, you are so adorable. I adore everything about you. I want you to cook for me. I want you to to laugh for me. I want you to love...for me. And I want you. To want me.
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