do it with you: a love story.
I feel like my life has a lot of caves and they are all filled with your hair: a love story.
Let’s pretend you are capable of being who I think I need you to be: a love story.
When you tweeted that the best you could ever arrive at is probably the leader of a sex cult, I guess I should have seen that as a red flag: a love story.
Well, I was clearly more into that than you were: a love story.
I think it’s time for you to drop back into my life, ruin it, then disappear again: a love story.
The best part of fucking you in that bathroom at the Rivington Hotel was when I went to Sephora first and did my makeup using all their testers for free, especially the Yves Saint Laurent lip lacquer. P.S. When you said, Let’s fuck at the Rivington Hotel, I thought you meant you were getting an actual room: a love story.
I’m sorry that when you asked what you could do to help me have an orgasm I said leave the room: a love story.
Sometimes when I need to comfort myself (all the time) I think about your lisp and it creates a wombskin around my brain full of barbituratesque nectar, the side effects of which include a horny surge in my second chakra and pussy, and then severe withdrawal: a love story.
The man just wanted to put his dick in things and the woman wanted her pussy to be perfect: a love story.
I only had sex with you to get you to stop talking about your art: a love story.
Wish I had a dick too: a love story.
I never really liked you but everyone else was worse: a love story.
Secretly it hurt my feelings when you were outed as a sexual predator, because for me you couldn’t even get it up: a love story.
I’ve been on your FB page for five hours today: a love story.
Imagining that you are going to come back to me is my favorite way to spend the day: a love story.
I still can’t believe that someone as hot as you has validation issues but I also know that being a very sensitive person on this planet is painful and some of us are built like sieves, or have holes where any external validation just pours right through and we never get full, and I also know it’s ultimately an inside job anyway and no amount of external validation will ever be enough (though damn it can feel good in the moment, and it sort of makes me mad at god, actually, like, okay god, you built me like this so teach me how to validate myself in a way that feels as good as when a boy does it or the Internet does it, because there is always a cost when a boy does it or when the Internet does it): a love story.
Yeah, all my orgasms were fake: a love story.
We’re going to spend the rest of our lives together in my head: a love story.
When I send nudes I like to receive a full dissertation on their greatness: a love story.
Remember when I yelled out I just want to eat pussy! in your car and you said I might actually be a real lesbian and then I ate your pussy better than a real lesbian but was still only bisexual: a love story.
I pretended you were this blond girl named Kirsten every time we had sex for two years: a love story.
I don’t want to get off the Internet or consider anyone else’s needs: a love story.
I miss the sex that I thought was love, but you knew was just sex: a love story.
The worst was when I tried to get revenge for having had a crush on you in high school and you not wanting me, because I got a lot hotter after high school, so I made a plan and the plan was that you would want me and I would kiss you but not sleep with you, yet somehow by the end of the night I ended up begging to suck your dick: a love story.
Tell me if I’m texting too much: a love story.
No teeth on the clit, thanks: a love story.
I thought we were good for each other, but my friends said you were crazy, and I don’t really trust my taste in people (or in anything, actually, and there’s good reason for