I watch yr lips form the words ‘I don’t love you. like. that’.
I sit, apparently unmoved. My silence belies an internal argument. I would quite like to walk into the bathroom and vomit. Or at least grab yr hand, turning yr fingers over and over and over again in my palm.
Sometimes i don’t believe you.
In quiet moments yr eyes tell me something different, filled with longing, I feel them walk with me around the room.
Girls like me, we live for the moments (for they can only be moments after all), where love and laughter and life shine through the monotony of the everyday. Laid bare you tell me what you really think. Ugly, painful and exposed.
There’s something in you which speaks to me and always has. Something in yr struggle which is my struggle too.
And momentarily (because it can only ever be fleeting) I do not feel alone in all this. i do not feel lost, or alone, or ugly, or unloveable, or crazy, or difficult, or – just.too.much
I feel alive, like all this has a purpose.
It lifts the weight of years from my shoulders.
Until you speak again, tell me that you will never be with me.that.you.do.not.want.me
Or at least.
You say you don’t.