Let me begin by saying welcome. Welcome to the mentality of a 28 year old who still struggles with personification. Who still struggles with relations. Loose lips sink ships and I’ve never gone on a cruise, but I have ridden waves. Never been sea sick, but I do lock lips with temptation from time to time. I drink from it like it’s a fine wine. I prefer beer, but whiskey comes in a solid first. Much like temptation does. In this case temptation is a metaphor. A metaphor for the one that got away, the one I told go away. The one I adored, the one I ignored. The one I slept with that my friends are friends with, but they don’t know about it. I don’t think any of them are here so it’s ok to mention. I have a penchant for dismissing the obvious when temptation comes knocking. When temptation comes calling at two in the morning. Answering the phone yawning. Pretending like I’ve been asleep. It’s the weekend so I’ve been up playing Playstation. Knowing this girl doesn’t want any kind of relation. She just thinks sex with me is a bit better than masturbation. I accept her request and invite her over into my nest. There’s no love here, only lust. My heart is a machine that use to be pristine and clean. But now there’s just rust. I grow tired of bedding women that think I’m good enough to fuck, but I’m not good enough to love. You usually only hear this kind of thing happening to women. I want to offer her character, but she rather have carats. Maybe I’m in the wrong business. The business of wanting more than just hot food and hot sex. I can pleasure myself, thanks. It may not be exactly the same, but watching 47 seconds of that perfect video that I found online puts me to bed just fine. And I’m a decent cook, my Mom taught me a few things from her recipe book. She also taught me to let someone know if you care about them. It’s easy to hide behind text messages when when all you want to know is how wet it is. Though I am 28 years old; I don’t feel hold, but these fake rabbit holes are beginning to take their toll.

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