I wanted him to stay the weekend. I didn't want him to leave. He couldn't come back, how could he come back = 'I'm free again in two weeks!' - my self esteem wouldn't let me say it, my self esteem wouldn't allow it, but he could stay.
Oh stay. I might have said it, but only once. "Go on, I'll make you breakfast!"
"I need to get my keys," he said. It's how he met me, going back for his keys.
I laughed at his frustration trying to find his things amongst my mess, untangling his jeans from me, from all of me.
"You really are going?" I said as he pulled them on.
As he left he paused at the door, looked at me.
I'd've got out of bed, I'd have kissed his cheek
but my head was nailed to the pillow.
So much for sex curing hangovers I thought, as my head split in two.
I slept for the rest of the day.