The feelings of connecting with another person through music is powerful, I’m more attracted to that process than anything else. I’m not obsessed with you, I’m obsessed with the words of the songs we sang, the music we listened to, and the music I felt. The music that pulsed through my body the other night, and the nights before we met. Our time together reminded me of when I was younger. It reminded me of all the lost opportunities of love I expirenced and the music drove a knife through my heart. Your kisses and body just distracted me from that.


The music brought me back to a time of unprocessed agonizing heart break. Listening to the music and thinking about you was painful, and I’m now realizing that you weren’t why I was in pain. I don’t know you, we had a great night together, but you are not my mistress, you are a stranger to me. My sadistic beautiful mistress has no lips to lay mine on, or body to hold tight, yet she will always be there to torment me and speak to my heart. I personified you, and I wanted you, and I forgot that no one can have you. Not even me, and I am a fool for thinking she was you.
© Thirdface