Saturday, August 1, 2015
Not a text or a call. Not a card or an email. I waited all day staring at my phone waiting for something from you telling me you were thinking of me on my birthday. Nothing. Did you really not give a shit about me anymore? I needed to feel wanted, especially tonight. It would just be sex. The feelings wouldn't be there. 5 minutes was all I got. No aftershocks. I wasn't even out of breath. I could have gotten up and ran a mile. I wanted to fuck. I wanted 4 hours of fucking, of being drug a crossed the bed, of fucking in every position we could think of. I wanted it up against the wall. I wanted it on the floor. I wanted it on the counter. It was my fucking birthday! I needed you to wash away the loneliness even if it was just for one night. After the 5 minutes of "sex", I walked into your bathroom, sat down, gave you the finger and cried. Another failed attempt to replace you. Another failed attempt to forget you. Another failed birthday.