When will it stop? The neverending thoughts of you. The tethering is a bit too tight, Sir. I'm begging for some type of release. Don't let go, but let me go about my days. Especially when you're not here to lighten them up.
I woke up fairly late this morning, and as per usual my first thought was of you. I wondered if you went to workout earlier this morning, if when you saw your bare chest in the changing room's mirror you had a thought for me — if it crossed your mind to snap a quick picture, if you hesitated to send it my way — if you thought eventually this was inappropriate. It's not. Checked my phone, nothing. You should have. Maybe next time?
Anyhow, I hope you had a nice weekend. I hope people made you happy, made you feel like you deserve the world. Because you do, and I'd give it to you if you'd let me. Also, I hope you missed me. A little, at least. A quick passing thought of me, a quick auditive memory of my laughter, a quick flashing image of my sweet face. Or maybe a naughtier creative thought of how those eyes of mine would look at you with your masculinity in my mouth. Ahem. I'm sorry about that (no I'm not).
Not raising my expectations too high, but I hope to catch you later today. I need to hear that voice of yours, that laugh of yours, those sighs of yours — those random off-context moans of yours. I know, you don't know you make them noises. But I do.
Hopelessly Y/yours.