Together Alone

Together Alone

I'm in love. Hopelessly, stupidly, in love. I had once heard a quote that reads:

"One day, whether you are 14, 28 or 65 .... You will stumble upon someone who will start a fire in you that cannot die. However, the saddest, most awful truth you will ever come to find-- is they are not always with whom we spend our lives."

He does not love me. His love is in a platonic, best friend kind of way. He will do things, and say things that, when I have my rose colored glasses, they sound so lovely and sweet. Yet, my feelings are not met with his. The kisses during sex aren't desperate like mine are, they are thoughtful, sweet. The kisses are ones he would give his sister. There is no passion in his caresses. Their intent isn't to meld with me in a hot frenzy, but they are relaxing and comforting. He does not want me.

In his arms I can play pretend. I run my hands all over him, press against his back, and lose myself in his scent and voice. Enjoy his conversation, wanting so much more. Always wanting more of him.