it’s 1am and she tries to scrub the undersides of her fingernails of all traces of him when she’s never even laid a pretty finger on his flesh
but his gaze is enough to make her feel like he’s seen every secret crevice of her soul.

it’s 2am and she’s crying. just because you’re in love doesn’t mean it’s sweet, sometimes it’s terrible. it’s being swallowed into a cavalcade of undesired feeling, sighing breathless, drowning bottomless.
sometimes it’s terrifying.  absolutely anything is better than feeling like wanting to pull each baby hair follicle from your arms after he’s looked at you too long.

it’s 3am and despair is the name of the game, the feeling of the hour, the thoughts clinging to you like a needy child desperately begging to be fed. there is no more for you to give. no more of you to give. you’ve accidentally given too much. you’ve played russian roulette with a loaded gun.

it’s 4am.
you can’t love him. but you do.