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Hot. But not like the sun, like hell. That inescapable feeling of screwing up. Screwing me over. I am IT. There will never be another person who would love you like me. I have spent mornings bandaging wrists that left handprints on my ass, my face, the night before. I will deny you the quick fix. If you hurt me, know I will not take on the responsibility of making you feel better about it. But I will forgive you, the second you feel sorry, the second you’d rather hold my hand than hold back my hair. Imminent hell, fucking things up with me. Who would do anything to please you? You hate yourself so much that you hate me, the girl whose toes you always found yours interlocked with, even in your deepest sleep. The girl you downed two bottles of wine with on a Tuesday and slow danced with in the middle of her dorm, like her roommate and her friends weren’t watching. With me, it is only ever us. Who else can make you forget the watchful eye of judgemental spectators, lonely college frat boys who would call you a pussy for being whipped over the girl who’s picture you hung on a wall of loose cannons. The girl who silently let you whittle away at the gaping hole in her chest, like you would aimlessly flick rust off an old picnic table. The girl who never made a scene, when you finally decided she wasn’t good enough to string along and she said okay, and floated inconsequentially into the middle of the ocean. It is me. Hurt me and you will be rewarded. You get another crazy ex to add to your repertoire. You get to boast about your body count and the girl you fucked in a clearing in the woods in the pouring rain on a Wednesday night. What was her name again? Doesn’t matter, you’ve done it all. Now you can say you’ve done the sun, hellfire, you felt it burn and churn in your stomach and escaped a worse man.
Oh, but I am so gentle. Not in the way a kindergarten teacher would be. More like a still pond you find on an impromptu walk through your backyard woods that you’ve never explored before. Have you ever found one of those before? You take out your earbuds and you find yourself becoming so quiet, so aware of everything. Those little bodies of water that give you the sudden inclination to crouch at their edge and watch the rings of light dance as little bugs skim its surface. Do you feel that breeze? Makes you wish you lived there, and the water is always so comfortably warm. I see rings of light dancing in your eyes and in your spit, in the sweat over your brow when you first met me and when we last fucked. You can be so aware of the wreck and carnage this pond can ensue. Birds will come down from the clearing and decimate families of innocent tadpoles. There is a leach waiting hungirly on the side of that rock that sticks out of the water's surface. This pond shows you that destruction can be serene, calm, warm, comforting. Let me make a wreck of myself, let there be a drought and deplete myself of water, of life. But when the water is low enough, that is when you can come inside the easiest. When I am begging for anything to fill me. That is when you can walk out to the rock in the middle and sit right down on it, not worried about getting the bottoms of your jeans damp. The leech is shriveled and it looks like a leaf. It can’t thirst for your blood, it can’t thirst for anything at all. It knew it could never have found what it was looking for. That insatiable hunger will kill me. That weakness is why you loved me most.
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