"I exist, that is all, and I find it nauseating." -- Jean-Paul Sartre
My flesh feels naked. I want to yell and scream and make him understand what he did but it's useless, there's no point, it's past tense. I feel sick when I think about him, like there's bile rising in my throat but it won't spill out. It just stays, reminding me that I'm the one who got myself into this mess.
And I was doing so well, too.
There's a melancholy when I'm alone, sometimes. I can't quite shake it.
Him being with her feels out of the natural order of things. I don't know whether to cry or vomit. It feels like something is wrong in the world, just with the knowledge of that existing. He told me once that once he gets into a relationship, he gets clingy. I guess I'm not worth clinging to.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment