Hi. Hello. Yes. Tell me I’m pretty. Tell me you thought about me yesterday. Tell me you almost called.
Yes, I’ve blocked you. Three times. Yes, I unblocked you at 2 a.m. to see if your Spotify playlist changed. Yes, I know that’s insane.
Here’s a short piece written in the voice and style suited for a — raw, confessional, and slightly obsessive, with the rhythm of an inner monologue. Title: The Next Fix love junkie sub read
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.
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. Tell me I’m pretty
But then my phone vibrates. A generic “hey, stranger” from someone new — and suddenly my veins are singing.
I tell myself I’m clean now. No more late-night scrolling through your archived stories. No more decoding three-dot ellipses like they’re scripture. Yes, I’ve blocked you
They say love addiction is just chasing the crash. But the crash is the only time I feel the shape of my own bones. Before you, I was hollow. With you, I’m a firework factory after someone dropped a match.