You are the most “chill” lover the world has ever come across, your words laced with confidence and inklings of indifference as you speak about your cruel intentions with such a grace that would make the most graceful person blush.
I know you want to talk to him about how, if you could, you would never let him leave from the warmth of your arms, how you want to hold him close and read poetry out to him, each word unraveling a story your lips have hushed in moments of inhibitions, I know you want to tell him that he is the only bible your infidel heart accepts however you’re too much of a vagabond, for “homes” have always terrified you. Permanence terrifies you. I know you want to tell him that the only reason you attend to his texts instantly is because his contact is the only one with customized notifications enabled. I know you want to tell him that even though you believe in being selfish, his needs are the only ones you would ever place above yours.
But you? Nah. You’re the “chill” girl.
So you wrap your words in presents and address them to the void in your stomach every time you speak to him using hollow words and causal promises.
You were not made for this anyway.