My Quasimodo...

wasn't ever mine. LoL.

I called him the other night.
I couldn't stop myself anymore.
..and i was so dissappointed.
He was so un-interested; it felt like he didn't care.

His voice even seemed different.

Rage burned inside me, and I needed to get off the phone.
Maybe I was too rude whilst saying bye.

I dreamt about him last night... I think.
How my hand sat.. just right.. in his hand.
How he made me giggle everytime he tugged at my bottom lip.
The way he held my body close to his.

I don't really believe in Perfect.
..and anyways, if it did exist, it would be a weird thing.
My perfect, may not be your perfect.
But... That day.
The day I spent with him, was something that I would call Perfect.

Rose coloured spectacles?
I'm guessing so.

I wanted him to pop my cherry.
I thought he'd stick around, do the caring thing.
I might act like a hoe wannabe, but really, I'm a soppy pathetic little girl at heart.
I want to be looked after.
I thought he would.

Thank Goodness I didn't get that far with him.
He's farting around with (an)other girl(s)...

I'd still love to spend a night with him.
His and my sexualism were on the right frequency.
Nothing spoken, nothing questioned, nothing answered.
Just the vibes.
From day one.

A night alone with him would result in many orgasmic experiences.
I want him to hold my hand again.
I'm not asking for much, am I?