I don’t need food. I need good morning texts. I don’t need sleep. I need you to leave me on read for exactly four minutes so I can spiral, then reply with a heart so I can breathe again.
So go ahead. Leave me on delivered. I’ll refresh. I’ll wait. I’ll rewrite your silence into poetry until you prove me wrong. love junkie sub read
I tell myself I’m clean now. No more late-night scrolling through your archived stories. No more decoding three-dot ellipses like they’re scripture. I don’t need food
Here’s a short piece written in the voice and style suited for a — raw, confessional, and slightly obsessive, with the rhythm of an inner monologue. Title: The Next Fix I need you to leave me on read
But then my phone vibrates. A generic “hey, stranger” from someone new — and suddenly my veins are singing.
One heart react, and I’m yours again.
Yes, I’ve blocked you. Three times. Yes, I unblocked you at 2 a.m. to see if your Spotify playlist changed. Yes, I know that’s insane.
