Too Alive

The best part about her is that she doesn’t remind me of you. Kissing her is like being kissed for the first time. When she left this morning, I wanted her, not you, to come back.

Now I’m sitting in a café, blushing at last night, thinking the waiters can see.
I itch, am distracted, and it grows into an intense feeling of dissatisfaction, a mad, driving desire that makes my fingertips tingle and twitch. It’s almost pleasurable, feeling a little too alive, unsatisfied again.