Haunted

I’m always searching for someone. This time it is you. 

I’m forgetting your voice now, except for how you sounded when you called me your,” good girl” when I was being bad for you. It haunts me now.

Every blondeish redhead man who was 5’7″ or 5’8″ looked like you. I kept wishing it was. That maybe he could put the pressures on my body like you did. Maybe he can make me cry out like you did, too. 

But every  “good girl” from someone else feels empty.  I try them on for size and they don’t fit right. I don’t want them. I want you. 

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