So go ahead. Leave me on delivered. I’ll refresh. I’ll wait. I’ll rewrite your silence into poetry until you prove me wrong.
But junkies don’t need logic. We need the next hit. The next I miss you . The next fight-makeup-block-unblock-come-over-don’t-leave cycle that tastes like surrender and smells like your hoodie. love junkie sub read
Because the worst part isn’t the craving. The worst part is that I love the craving. It means I’m still alive. Still ready to ruin myself for a single text. So go ahead
But then my phone vibrates. A generic “hey, stranger” from someone new — and suddenly my veins are singing. I’ll wait
I don’t need food. I need good morning texts. I don’t need sleep. I need you to leave me on read for exactly four minutes so I can spiral, then reply with a heart so I can breathe again.
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