ANÁLISIS | SIGNIFICADO
In the morning, lying next to him doesn't feel the same as being with you. He may not have the darkness that you possess, nor the words to match, but he's lacking in maturity, still almost a child. Like plain yogurt, without the intensity you carry in your chest. Fragile like a flower, nothing like my favorite kind of trouble.
Without your nails leaving marks on my skin, without your hands grasping tightly, everything changes. Without your poisonous words in my ears, without the torment of your teeth and the sweetness of your kiss, I feel nothing.
Making love with someone else, no, no, no, it's not the same. No pink stars, no essence seeping through the pores, no intertwined love like we had.
Making love with another, no, no, no, it's like doing nothing at all, lacking the fire in their eyes, the absence of soul in every kiss, and feeling like you can touch the sky.
I wanted to forget you, to seek revenge for all your betrayals, but I ended up so lost that breathing the same air as you becomes challenging. Your tangled curly hair, your sharp hips, the way you scratch like sandpaper and twist, your smile—those are the best parts of my life.
Making love with someone else, no, no, no, it's not the same. No pink stars, no essence seeping through the pores, no intertwined love like we had.
Making love with another, no, no, no, it's like doing nothing at all, lacking the fire in their eyes, the absence of soul in every kiss, and feeling like you can reach the sky.
