Three nights. For three nights, you slept beside me. For three nights, I smoked you up.
Twice. Twice, I cooked you dinner. Twice, we had sex. Twice, you told me how nice I was to you.
Once. Once, you ate without even talking to me, preferring to stay online instead. Once, you browsed other girls while laying in bed next to me. Once, you convinced me that you had given my number to other guys "for a good time." Once, I told you three nights together was too much.
Four days. For four days, I loved having you here. For four days, you got closer to me than I let nearly anyone else.
Three nights. For three nights, I slept fitfully because I knew you were there. For three nights, I woke up with our heads touching, forehead to forehead. For three nights, I dreamed of you.
Twice. Twice, I loved cooking for you. Twice, I thought how fantastically lucky I was. Twice, I thought how nice you were to me.
Once, I got so mad at you because you'd rather chat online than talk to me where I sat in front of you. Once, I got upset that I might not be enough for you. Once, I got upset because I liked you so damn much, and when you pulled the joke over my head, it felt like all I was to you was a "good time," when to me, you were so much more, and I didn't want to be out there on that far, far limb, all by myself. Once, I didn't know how to tell you that, so instead, I told you three nights was too much.
Five. Five months I gave to you. I would have hoped for more from you, but whatever.
Well. I guess I'll never know what happened, anyhow.