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We waste hope on hopeless things. Like a man being able to save a woman like me.
Like when you’re adrift in an Ocean of misery, and your lungs are flooded with waves after endless waves of grief with every, single, breath you take — until drowning becomes your only reality. A willing man, starts to look like a life raft to a woman like me.
We waste hope on hopeless things. Like a man being able to save a woman like me.
So in desperate need of a glimmer of hope, you clung to that raft like he was a lighthouse guiding you home. You let him bring you back to lifes shores, lay you down and give you mouth to mouth until the icebox around your heart began to melt — and you could feel your heart beating once more.
We waste hope on hopeless things. Like a man being able to save a woman like me.
So you spent hour’s and days and weeks and nights, wrapped up in something in his eyes, spilling drunken confessions from your guts, telling him you just needed a touch of love, not seeing that he was oblivious — as he gazed from your breasts down to between your thighs, speaking of wild thoughts running all through his mind.
