...

White ceilings. Every time it's white ceilings. I'm staring at one right now and I'm the loneliest person in the world, even though you're here with me now. I don't know why you even came over tonight. To torture me?

When I held you earlier in my arms, you were so warm. Your hands were so hot to the touch, just like when we're in bed. It felt right. It did. For a minute. And then you started to push me away again, with your words, your gestures. You're pushing my buttons. You won't let me be nice to you tonight. You're closing up on me again. I dread what's to happen next.

I hate this holiday season. I hate that I thought so much about you and that you have brushed me off again. We're hopeless. I'm hopeless. Play with fire and you're liable to get burned, they say, I say. Why don't I listen to myself? I haven't been so unhappy in years.