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Creative storyteller with passion for art & connection. Portland, Oregon.

all he has to do is hint

all he has to do is hint and i'm off to the races

building playlists and writing stories,

inserting myself in deep moments of longing i imagine he's having

specifically about me


i feel what it's like to be yearned for

and it makes me want to be the subject of that desire,

receiving the love i see between the lines,

even though he's said nothing (of substance)


i do all the work, and i'm happy to

this way i'm loved exactly the way i want to be

in my head, he's staring out windows thinking about the way my fingers dance in the condensation of a glass,

the crooked smile i make when i'm humoring him, and the way i notice all the little moments of infinity tucked inside the mundane.


but then the truth comes crashing in,

it always does

all he wants to do is fuck me

and when he does he's taking from me what i'd give him freely if he'd just ask

it's a transfer of ownership for him

it's about win or lose with him

and i always lose


but in the moments before,

when i'm envisioning the alternate realities where we're together, where everything is different,

i forget that we are misaligned,

on different paths that occasionally intersect.



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