Know

I want to know you again. I want to be your shoulder, again. I want your shoulder under my cheek, too.

I don't know how to be someone I'm not, though.

In my dreams, we're fucking and it's beautiful and it's right and then you're poking my armpit with your finger and that's not right, and I get angry and you get incensed and then I wake up because armpits are not erogenous zones, mkay? That's just too weird, so my brain thinks.

I want to know what changed inside you.

You don't know what I like. You don't want to know what I'm like.