I'm not going to be the girl you marry, but I'll be the girl you'll be thinking of 20 years from now while you engage in polite sex with your boring wife who fakes her orgasm to make you feel better about your receding hairline.
I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair. Silent and starving, I prowl through the streets. Bread does not nourish me, dawn disrupts me, all day I hunt for the liquid measure of your steps. Pablo Neruda
It's Complicated: What It's Like To Love Someone You Also Hate