Tell me about your first night getting drunk, how it felt to discover you couldn’t walk in a straight line. All the flavors of vodka you downed, the exact shape of shot glasses you used. Tell me the deepest conversation you’ve ever had; recount it word by word. I want to know whose mouths you’ve kissed, how far your tongue went, if at all, who made the first move, if you bit their lip, how they reacted. Tell me about the sex. If it was slow, languid, lonely, fast, rough, a shipwreck. Did the bed break? Did it shake? I need to know about the nights you spent home alone underneath the covers beneath a sky so full of stars it threatened to burst, and why you stayed in instead of going out. Were you lonely that night? Did you feel misunderstood? What songs were you listening to when the whole world was caving in? Tell me your worst fears, your one-night stands, your wakeup calls and bad excuses. Tell me your middle name and your first lover’s name, your last lover’s name too. I hope it’s mine. Crush me with your sins; this is your confession. Who did you fuck that you now regret? Tell me about all the windows you broke in grade school, all the cars you stole a ride in, the first cigarette, how it felt to inhale all that smoke into your lungs, into the deepest, blackest parts of you. I want to know what makes your fists clench, why your knuckles turn white. Seduce me with your words, your best memories and the ones that tear you apart inside and leave you sobbing in someone else’s arms. Tell me about the first time you came, if it was on your own or with someone else. What your face looked like. How it felt. Tell me about the love that wounds you. I want to know you so deeply I’ll never be able to climb back out.
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