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what_it_is_like
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Iren3_adler
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A fist, deep in the pit of my stomach. A sickness I've never experienced. Stray tears. Extreme nausea. Shaking hands and flushed skin and racing heart. It is rage. It is smashing glasses and pretending you're just heavy handed. It is bleeding and thinking, 'well, at least I can see how much this hurts" and most of all thinking; this is my fault. This is my choice. This is what I deserve.
To know I wasn't the last inside you. That's the killer. To know you have been reclaimed, that other lips have kissed that skin and sighed that name and caught your breath and returned it - to know that is the pain. Pain I've never known before.
There is no consolment. There is no moving forward.
There is just bathroom floor tears, nails dug into palms and a request for silence. The silence cannot harm me. The silence cannot speak the words I dread.
To think this morning I spoke of seeing you. To think I thought this wouldn't happen so fast, so soon. To think I could even look you in the eye now without crying. To think I could look at you, and not see her fingerprints upon you. I couldn't.
The sickness has still not subsided.
I don't think it ever will.
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140614
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Iren3_adler
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https://postsecretdotcom.files.wordpress.com/2014/06/dorthy.jpg
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140614
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Iren3_adler
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In my mind, I had envisioned that at worst, there would be a kiss. An after date kiss. That would be how you do things. You are polite, well mannered, courteous, the ultimate chivalrous knight. I had this image painted so perfectly. I thought I knew how things would go.
Then it turns out you fuck on the first date and now I don't know what I think anymore.
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140615
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