I miss making love to you sometimes.

I’m Charlie Brown with the fucking football again, and you’re Lucy yanking it away at the last second.

There’s been good sex and there’ve been deep feelings, but the confluence of both has pretty much eluded me since you.

I had a dream of you the other night. We were still a couple, or at least it felt like that. Familiar. Comfortable. We were laying in bed, sort of spooning, and you moved your blueberry booty into my dick, which got me hard, both in the dream and in life. And of course, just as I was about to put it inside, my dog whimpered and I woke up. Womp womp. Damn cock-blocking animal.

I’m sorry for all the hurt. Some lessons take too long to learn.

She got under my skin, but that’s as far as she could get. You were already in my bones.

I don’t think it fair to my girlfriend to write anything here, however you should know that for whatever it’s worth, you’re never forgotten.

This isn’t necessarily for you, but I’ve got nowhere else to write this and I want to put this down. When did going out become such a scene? I’ve done it and then I did it again, and again, and again… I’m so disgustingly over it.

Don’t tell me you don’t read this.

Don’t tell me it’s just a fuck.

Don’t tell me you don’t love me.

Because you know that ain’t our luck.