daniel loves solitude.

pretty morning streams of sunlight beaming through the windows. your hair splayed on the right side of his bed. white sheets tangled between two warm bodies. one with pinkish-red scratch marks littered down the back, the other with light brown bruises squeezed into the hips.

he's a carnivore lusting to track you down among the pines. wants you stuffed into his mouth if he could. hold you down. tear you open. live inside you. oh love, he'd never hurt you. but he'll grind against your bones until our marrows mix and we're powder in jars.

he wanna be covered in lipstick stains. take that as a polaroid, and put that in the back of his phone case. trace road maps of green veins on his skin, talk 'bout how hungry you make him. would wordlessly let you take his arm. go ahead. give it a soft-mouthed bite, but he would probably let you do anything.

he loves solitude but he was meant to be a lover.

no. he never planned to be one. never wanted to be somebody's lover. he didn't fall in love with you. he walked into love with you, with eyes wide open, choosing to take every step along the way.

he does believe in fate and destiny, but he also believe we are only fated to do the things that we'd choose anyway. and he'd choose you. in a hundred lifetimes. in a hundred worlds. in any version of reality. he'd find you and he'd choose you.

but you know.

"let's break up."

cause you deserve better.