Blood Orange/Baby Blue

i can’t stand the way i could still spend sober hours tangled in your too long arms, having awkward backseat sex (i assumed you would eventually get the hang of it. At least you always left me wanting more) even now, when you can’t stand to make any sort of lasting eye contact, i wouldn’t mind going out of my way to see you on the Monday night your dog died or sneaking away from a party where everyone thinks i could “do better”. you were a bad kiss and a bad screw, yet i can’t figure out why it’s more comfortable for you to ascend 3 flights of stairs, pretending i’m not by you the entire way up, rather than acknowledge me as the girl you lost your virginity to in the back of a blood orange station wagon