Raw Confide

Lately, I don’t miss sex. I miss anticipation. I miss the way someone’s eyes would linger a second too long, like they were undressing a thought, not my body. I miss conversations that felt like foreplay — slow, intentional, dangerous. I want to be wanted in that quiet way again. The way that makes you sit up straighter. The way that makes you aware of your skin. I want someone who notices how my voice softens at night. Someone who reads between my words and smiles instead of asking questions. I don’t want rush. I don’t want noise. I want tension. I want connection. I want that moment where nothing has happened yet… but everything already feels inevitable.

Sometimes I think about him and I feel a sting of regret so sharp it almost feels physical. He wasn’t perfect, but he was kind, patient, and genuine. Back then, I thought I could do better. I thought I had time. I thought someone else would treat me the way he did, but with more excitement, more spark. I didn’t realize he was the spark. He used to text me every morning, asking if I had eaten. He remembered things I said in passing — like how I hated being ignored or how I’m always cold at night. One time, I had a terrible day, and he left everything he was doing just to keep me company over the phone. But I kept him at arm’s length. I didn’t want to “lead him on.” So I rejected him. Nicely. Politely. But painfully. Now he has moved on. He laughs differently. He shines differently. Someone else is receiving the kind of love I didn’t know I needed until it was gone. And every time I think about it, I wonder… If I ever tell him I want him back, will he even look at me the same way he once...