I feel as though I am hyperventilating with my mind. Think in, think out. Fast fast fast, over and over and over.
So maybe when I said I was getting over you, what I really meant was I could forget about you maybe if we never spoke again. But of course we did speak again, and I cracked right open all over, like an egg or something. You make me feel like an egg or something, and it doesn’t feel bad. It feels like I love you not in-love-with-you, and it’s warm and nice, and I can’t resent you for it, which is also nice. I like feeling this way. I’m almost satisfied with it.
But I can’t help but hope that someday I’ll make you feel like an egg or something, too.
