What

It is just a little disheartening to find myself unsatisfied with what is on offer and still tied to what passed under so long ago. The sound of your voice over voicemail made organs jump and then grow small, shriveled and pinched into safe corners of the rib cage, where boys don't get to reach in and play with them.
It just seems that I don't have much left at the end of the day when I am done thinking about you. So I don't.