Broken Doll

I can almost taste his tongue in my mouth.

I can almost feel his fingertips tracing lines down my back.

I can almost feel his hand gripping my hip, pulling me close.

I can almost feel his weight on my back, pressing me down.

I can almost hear his voice murmuring against my ear. I can almost hear his hunger.

His teeth. His voice. His hands. His smell.

Goddess, his smell. Dark, heady, primal. Even now I could still recognize him blindfolded.

And every time I think I can get to a point of hating him enough to walk away, this all comes crashing down on me again. How much I love him. How much I miss him. How much I need to belong to him.

How many times have I said goodbye to you and it still won’t let me go?

I love you. I love you. I love you. It can’t end like this. It can’t end like this. It can’t end like this.