I'm just so lonely. Not just today, but every day.
My bed is filled with stuffed animals gifted to me by friends who I don't talk to anymore. Their solidness and warmth cradle against me in faux affection.
I anxiously double check online communities I'm apart of waiting for a text that will never arrive. Filling my days with people I don't know, looking to clutter the void with lookalike company of people who have long since left.
I tease the earth with my hands, dance the ground and whisper promises to the weeds in my backyard. Yet I flounder and flail at the opportunity to romance myself and others.
I fantasize about a faceless lover when the only person whose ever been in my bed is me.
My room is cluttered with things I love and tend too; so much so that it feels too cold and empty to leave. Anywhere else is simply too cold.
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