Craving for an insult

It’s been long,
really long,
for us to interlace our cheeky banters,
abusing each other most sincerely,
and amusingly insult.

You knew
exactly how to make me wet,
with or without touching.
I’m not sure
which one was better,
for I never had a chance to differentiate,
or enough energy to waste
on thinking anything else but you.

I’m a coward.
And you know that.
I cannot risk
exposing my soul
to anyone else,
for you’ve left your imprints everywhere.

I read your poetry,
and listen to the audios you recorded for me,
hoping they’d fill me,
like you used to.
They can’t.
Nothing can replace you,
replace “us”,
replace what we had
even when we had nothing.

We had everything.

I don’t know
why and when we ran out,
fell out of our embraces.
We weren’t so sane.

And I may sound desperate;
I do not care.
I just wish that you storm back in,
slap me on whole my face,
and say that it was a terrible, terrible idea
of not seeing each other anymore.
and then we begin again.

Begin insulting each other.


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