TEMPORARY

Leave the heels by the door. Don’t make this prettier than it is. We both know why you’re here.

Phone face down on my nightstand. Mine’s been silent since you walked in. You don’t ask why I haven’t slept. I don’t ask who you’ve been stalking. Fair trade.

You still wear the perfume he used to tell you he loved. I still keep one of her pictures in a folder I don’t open enough to delete it.

That’s us. Half honest. Fully aware. Two people taking off clothes because taking off history’s harder.

You say my name. I hear somebody else’s. I pull you closer anyway. You close your eyes right before you kiss me. I don’t ask who you’re seeing in my place. And that’s probably the most honest thing we do.

We don’t call it healing. We don’t call it love. We’re just borrowing each other until missing them doesn’t hurt as much.

Temporary. That’s all you are to me. That’s all I am to you. You kiss me trying to forget him. I hold you trying not to think of her too.

Temporary. No future to pretend. No “what are we?” No making plans. Just two people using something that feels good to avoid feeling what still hurts.

Temporary. That’s why it works.

And that’s fucked up. But it’s honest.

You know which drawer your shirt is in. That’s already getting dangerous. You left a toothbrush here last week. I threw it out. Then felt ridiculous.

Because temporary gets blurry when the coffee starts happening. When you stay till noon. When “you up?” turns into “how’d that meeting go?” That’s where this shit gets complicated.

We were supposed to be anesthesia. No names for the feeling. No reaching across the bed when one of us starts dreaming. No getting jealous. No checking. No asking where somebody went.

But humans suck at keeping bodies separate from whatever the hell attachment is.

So tonight, don’t promise me anything. Don’t ask if I’ll miss you. Just leave before breakfast while we can still call this what we agreed to.

Because temporary only works while nobody starts hoping. And lately… you’ve been staying after the morning.

Temporary. That’s all you are to me. That’s all I am to you. You kiss me trying to forget him. I hold you trying not to think of her too.

Temporary. No future to pretend. No “what are we?” No making plans. Just two people using something that feels good to avoid feeling what still hurts.

Temporary. That’s why it works.

Worst part? I like you. Not enough to call this forever. Enough to know this is gonna hurt differently when one of us finally gets better.

Because eventually… somebody stops using the other person to forget. And the one who’s still bleeding gets left twice.

Temporary. Yeah, that’s what we said. So don’t leave your heart here with your clothes beside my bed. You came here trying to forget him. I let you in trying to forget her too.

Temporary. Maybe that’s the lie. Not that this is love. That neither one of us is starting to care.

Leave before breakfast. Before temporary… needs another name.