“I’m still yours” those words, I want, but for me it feels more complicated than that. Covetous, I swing wildly back and forth between something resembling chill acceptance, and a sick sweat slicked anxiety liberally coated in anger. Waking with a sense of unease, but hazy unsure at first exactly why, and then it finds me. oh. Such a seemingly small thing to leave such a stone in my chest. You could do the same you know, if you wanted. Find a plaything, or two, or six. I could, certainly. In all my life I’ve never been more widely desired than I am right now. I’ve made myself into a unicorn. Easily, I could round up a half dozen virtual lovers by day’s end, all begging for my favor (and they would … beg) but truly the idea holds little appeal. Instead, for now, I’ll lay here, and try my best to still my roiling thoughts enough to catch a few more hours sleep.