I miss you and I see the charcoal letters of your name popping against the bright fluorescent light of my screen and it's 5:30am Zoe what the fucking hell, and you start describing to me what you would do to me right now, and how loud I would be, and how good my lips would look around your fingers, and how great my long hair would look wrapped around your fists, and for the first time it hurts because I actually loved you and all I was to you was a sort of experiment but so where you for me, right? I was using you too, I guess. At least at first. And then I had the bright idea to start lining you up to lyrics of songs, or to muffle your name against my palm on days where we hadn't seen each other, or to start apologizing when I would forget to talk in a London-esque accent because I knew how happy it made you. And I'm used to people using me in that way, I'm okay with it because I use them to, but there was nothing that felt better in this world than making that arctic surface smile for just a moment, and it had nothing to do with sex, or with power, or spending time with you just because I was bored, no it felt amazing to make you laugh when other people had such a hard time doing it, it almost made me feel proud. I was proud, I guess, that such a beautiful girl with cloudy grey eyes chose me even if was just for using me, I mean, there had to be something good in me, then? Until I told you I loved you, I mean