Do you remember how I used to touch you? How I used to play with your hair. Hold your thigh. I'm starting to forget, and I'm never gonna get a reminder. Nothing to jog my memory. Now, I scratch his braids. I give him massages. I run my foot up his leg and in between it. I crave him being inside of me because if he isn't, the inside of me starts to call for you instead. It feels wrong to have him holding me, caressing me, sweet talking into my ear when it all feels so familiar yet unfamiliar. When he called me little lady my face scrunched in confusion because he sounded like you but I wasn't looking at you. This isn't me pleading for you back, it's me pleading to get my first time back because I can't do anything without your faint presence lingering in my mind.