“Yes, you love this man. Think of all the moments you’ve shared- think of it all- there’s something there”. “There are too many inconsistencies. There are too many bright lights you’ve installed here. There’s so much you’re not taking into consideration”. Inner voice was nowhere to be found during this time. The arguments were sometimes long, sometimes short, and they all concluded with me walking away.

There’s nothing like laying yourself bare and honest and have someone turn away because it’ll hurt them to touch you. In all the turning away a constant taking and spreading and crushing.

We lie to ourselves because surely we’re worth wanting. Worth more than being a body pretending to be drunk just to be touched by a drunk body- in the dark. The dark, where only the shapes that the shadows your body makes and the faint glow of light creeping under the door or the blinds or the cellphone is possibly the most attractive thing about you. Throbbing inside the warmth of this body. Rolling away from this body. Holding this body perhaps in the same way someone decides how much to tip a waitress for a job done with satisfaction before walking out with the hole in your stomach filled. This body that can only be touched when drunk.

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