Hurt, rejection, separation anxiety.
My tone becomes more urgent as I spin into my own head. My mind fills with images of her delicate thin back, her beautiful smile, the music and the weed she's introduced me to. I obsess on the plans we've made, the fantasies we've spun. The very many promises she's thrown around like confetti: my love for them, and the love that was growing for her. My regret, and the hurt this is causing me.
Then the anger builds. The toxic contradiction between fantasies and rejection. Where she's said she wants to see me, but in practice she habitually cancels.
So that I throw myself back into the world with a hardon for validation, as much as a hardon for sex.