My skin is callus.
He knew this and chose to cut through it.
I don’t think he had a purpose. I think I was a project.
One of those donated bodies they used in med school.
To pick apart and dissect. To study disease.
To see if the future could change for someone else.
This was different.
He needed a live body.
Blood pumping through the veins.
Thoughts racing maybe rotting the brain.
It was odd;
An odd feeling.
He wasn’t predictable like the others-
Maybe he was but not to me.
He was definitely unlike the rest.
I wanted to know him
and not just know him but…
Memorize his being.
It’d take a lifetime…
and I’m not promising that I want a lifetime.
Not even for myself.
But for now, I wouldn’t mind it at all.
I don’t like feeling that I need someone.
I don’t need people in my life.
You know those romance films…
The ones where they feel lost and empty?
Lost and empty without their other half?
I’d much rather feel lost and empty by myself.
I don’t want to need someone.
I don’t like the thought of needing someone else
Because I have myself.