For weeks now, I have only felt like left overs. Each time we kiss I can feel your tongue searching my mouth for an old taste, the last morsels of a devoured girl. Heating me up with friction under bed sheets will not cut it anymore. Sometimes, I find myself fantasizing about what it would be like to hold the number one line on your grocery list. Darling, if I am being honest, lately I barely feel like a sixth priority. I bet you pen me down somewhere in between orange juice and pancake batter. I would kill to be your coffee cup each morning. I want to feel that vital. Damnit, I want to matter.
b.e.fitzgerald (via befitzgeraldwriting)













