I hunger for inappropriate touches in between my legs, murmurs in the dark, shattered promises about bright futures, I hunger for your voice inside me. I thirst for your words, beg for them like a blind man does for spare coins. I need to feel your fingers brushing across my skin, I want to see that curious glint in your eyes as you examine my imperfect body with your steel eyes and I need you to lend your ear for me a while, so I can pour my unbalanced mind there. Because that's all I am, your nervous train wreck, always hoping for the best but knowing better that life is an euthanasia roller coaster with more loops and unbearable pain.
As I write this, I can see your eyes jumping from the sentence to another. I can see how you frown at my choice of words, maybe at my grammar mistakes and how you shake your head and turn to me to say that it's not like that at all, but how would you know? You may feel my anxiety as you hold me through the loud nights, I can tell you about my nightmares and fears, but you cannot feel them and neither I can know what it is like to you.
You don't see my fears when they flash before my eyes and you would just probably laugh at them, because you are invincible, right? How could anything bad happen to you? How could you die? Honestly, I don't know. I just know that every night before I fall asleep, I pray for every known deity to keep you safe, to save you from the pain and burden me instead, to aim that bullet or truck or disease at me so you can live free and happy and sad and powerful. Not only because I want your happiness, but because I'm selfish. I couldn't live a life where your voice would be no more, where I couldn't feel your firm chest beneath my heated palms.
