a girl, and her shadow man
she touches herself in bed, legs splayed wide, just how he used to like it—fingers trailing between her thighs as she scrolls through hard-edged pictures. each image makes her pulse quicken, her breath catch in her chest. she slipped into her tightest yoga pants this morning for class, hoping they might tempt fate, hoping he’d be waiting at her door when she got back—hungry for her again.
but he wasn’t.
the emptiness of her apartment was a dull contrast to the heat he used to build between her legs. she still couldn’t help but replay those moments: the quiet growl in his voice when he gripped her waist, telling her how good she felt, the way his mouth found every soft spot on her body as if someone had handed him a map.
she had showered since their last encounter—but somehow, his scent still lingered faintly on her skin. a reminder that made her ache. a reminder of confusion.
she’d tried with others—new hands, new mouths, new bodies pressed against hers in dimly lit rooms. but it never felt the same. none of them knew her the way he did. none of them left her feeling like she was unraveling and whole all at once. instead, they were distractions—temporary fixes for a need she couldn’t seem to fill.
she wanted to take their arms, their lips, their hands, and piece them together—fragments of him, scattered across new bodies. but no matter how many times she tried, none of them could complete the puzzle. they were parts of him, but never the whole. never the man who once knew her better than she knew herself.
now, alone in her bed, she wondered if it would ever feel that way again. the silence around her seemed to mock her, pressing down on her chest as if to say: you can try, but you’ll never forget.
she ached, not just for the man he was, but for the version of herself she had been with him—the girl who believed, for a fleeting moment, that she was finally enough.
and now, alone in her bed, she wondered if it would ever feel that way again.
you will, she thought. but i’m selfish too, so i hope you don’t.
