Clear scar

I was romanticizing flesh, fantasizing life when it was only trembling legs on a messy bed.
I was caught up by monogamy and tried to morph passion into love, desire into possession, orgasms into meaning. We were friends, of course, and still are, thank god, but then we were boobs, legs, hands, holes, sucking and fucking. We weren't lovers, not in the way hearts make sounds anyways, simply sweat and smiles afterwards.
I created the scenery, the heroes and the villains, and somehow I managed to blame it all on you for a very long time. Well, not anymore. The story ended, the agony of my lips away from yours faded.
I can enjoy your company now.