If all we do is just fuck and pretend, what then shall we say to each other in the end? What tears of heartbreak will be shed? What emotional words will be softly and lovingly spoken? What remnants shall we have to hold onto that were once filled with love before they became broken? Why do we attempt to fool each other with sweet words that mean nothing? Is it not at least somewhat sadistic that we use each other for pleasure then blaspheme the name of love as if it was love that brought us together? 

We share a bed and go through our regular routine, then right after, breathless together, you talk of wedding locations and rings. I purposely avoid your delusional sentiments, not subtly but overtly, and still, you continue to bring them up again. In the company of your friends you act like we’re some model couple because you want them to envy you — and ignorantly, they do. Maybe it’s our lust for each other that keep us together. Many times I’ve packed my bags to leave but always end up taking you on the sink in the bathroom or against the wall in the bedroom or on the carpet on your knees in any room. But that’s all we do; fuck, breakup, make up, pretend and argue.