wrapped hard around his hips, carried into every room in that apartment. he fucked his pain away. I let him use me because I needed it. it's so trite, it's so sad. he didn't want to leave and I didn't want to be left but we had so little to do with each other. me in my coat and furry hat, stomping in my untied boots. him reminiscing of ex-girlfriends burnt in my image. I wasn't them. I wasn't right. he wasn't right. we were only ever wrong for each other.
but I remember whipping him once and his gritted teeth. I remember the marks on his body and the sweat on his back. his shark's eyes, black and staring. but never at me. he always seemed to be looking through me, or near me, rarely at me.
he mattered so very much to me, but my memory of him is fading. but he cannot forget anything. it's his curse, he would say.
I don't know why I loved him except that for a short, very short, time he needed me. and I needed that so badly. every moment I was with him was a compliment. he was so unhealthy for me. I never had control. I still don't.
the worst part is I was so rarely myself.
no, no, the worst part is that I miss him.
and I don't want to talk to anyone about it.
