4th may, 2024.
he kept calling me cute. told me he wanted to inhale me, asked me to drown him in my hair.
and i clutch to him like a backpack. i crawl all over him, wandering around his limbs, his eyes barely off me…wants to swallow me whole, i can tell.
that’s why i dread cutting myself off from him. taking away something he finds so sweet.
i worry that it’s me and i’m too intense with it all; but i suppose i like rides best when they’re fast.
men, too. the instant gratification of their tributes. i want it and i want it now and it seems as though i’ve ruined another one in my egomaniacal pursuit. i dread to think of the damage i might have done.
i think it might be all my fault.
my heart is freshly scratched by my own hand: stinging and raw. a door slams in my chest and the shock of air makes the open wound burn.
i feel quite physically sick at the thought of the next bit because i know exactly what i have to do and i simply can’t bear the idea of him sad. the thought of his little heart quivering with mine’s departure.
because mine knows his. it’s been right up close to it, watched it sleeping. i have borne witness to his loveliness and yet been so irresponsible.
i am sick with it; my head lurching as fast as my stomach my god, this hurts.
my poor heart screeching in pain. scratching at her cage; “anything but this!”.
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