Jude Mercer

jude.mercer//confessional.txt

last updated: 3:42am / mood: kinda spiraling

okay so. i don’t even know what this is. journaling? bleeding on a page? whatever. edith’s asleep. the cat’s staring at me like it knows something. my hoodie still smells like smoke and the passenger door still sticks and i still haven’t kissed you.

three months. three months of you and me and not one kiss. not even a forehead touch. and no, i’m not being dramatic, i’m being deliriously in love with someone who’s out here holding my entire soul in their hands like it’s nothing.

i keep thinking maybe if i was better—more holy, more gentle, more worth saving—you’d want me like i want you. but maybe that’s the problem. maybe you already do , and i’m just too scared to believe it.

you looked at me in that church like i wasn’t just trouble walking around, like i was some kind of sermon you didn’t expect.

i think about kissing you every damn day. not just hot makeout kissing (though—yeah), i mean the slow stuff. the soft stuff. like kissing your hand just to say thank you. kissing your shoulder when you’re tired. kissing your wrist because it’s right there and so are you.

and you— you’re so kind . like it makes me ache. you see the wreck i am and you still sit beside me. talk to me like i matter. let me send you memes and be a menace in your inbox. and i know i joke, i tease, i act smug but… truth is? i’d go real quiet if you touched me back.

i’d melt.
like actually.
like hoodie-on-the-floor, breath-caught, can’t-speak melt.

anyway. i should sleep. or shower. or write a love song no one will hear. but i just—i needed this out of me. so if you’re reading this (somehow), just know:

i’m yours. even if you never kiss me back. i’m still yours.

—j.m.
(aka the brat in the bookstore aka your boyfriend)

took this after work. don’t ask why i look like i’m about to confess my sins (i probably was).

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