Monday 1, Me 0. Did you guys actually survive the wreckage today or...? I’m sending up a flare to every God that’ll listen because I’m barely holding the line. Pray for your boy.
Watching someone composed get desperate for you is insanely hot… eyes locked on you, hands heavy, pulling you close like they’re starving — that’s not restraint. that’s surrender..
And a sea that’s almost as cold as your silence. The joke is entirely on me. The door is closed, the line is dead. I’m dining with the silence tonight, and it has infinitely better manners than you.
I crossed an ocean to find paradise, only to realize hell is just a breathtaking villa with a dead phone line. The Mediterranean sun does wonders for a bruised ego, wouldn’t you agree? I’ve spent the week curating heartfelt monologues for a dial tone, surrounded by rolling hills.