I wanted you to show up at my door unannounced, bearing gifts just because.
I wanted you to tell me that you miss me when we are apart, that I am not the one who’s counting down the minutes until you are home.
I wanted you to come over and wanting more than the gap between my legs. I wanted you to stay and cuddle after because you want to listen to the rhythmic thumps of my heartbeat and not merely to pass the time while waiting for your Uber.
I wanted you to love me.
But I forget my place.
I am merely a blip in your universe, a 12am booty call and an awkward cab ride home alone after.
I am a temporary, transient, impermanent thrill.
I meant, mean and will mean nothing to you.
And though I can come over and play house for a couple of hours,
I cannot ask you about your day and neither will you divulge the reason behind that frown.
We won’t talk about whom you spent the night with or make plans for next week
because with you, I cannot talk about yesterdays or tomorrows.
I’ll always give up sleep for you, meet you at whichever bar you’re at, even when I am already home.
And anyone can send you nudes but I will write poetry about that space between your neck and chest.
I’ll miss my flight to catch a glimpse of you at the security check, but who am I kidding?
A girl from KL could not possibly compete with the skyscrapers of New York.
You’ll check in, pick up your luggage and stand in the waiting line. And then your flight will take off.
They always do, no matter how many people in the airport would kill for another moment with the people in them.
The plane will take off anyway.
Just because I have no right to feel it,
doesn’t mean I don’t.