I sometimes wonder if I've made a mistake.
For months these thoughts have haunted me, yet the fear of the consequences for voicing them has kept me silent.
(but now that i know you dont read my writing any longer i speak i cry i scream i create something from the nothing; now i take refuge from neglect in words that you have interrupted)
Surely I cannot be blamed, having been made a fool by empty promises and unnecessary tears on a hotel pillow on a warm evening in May. And yet, I'd glimpsed what my future would be -- saw flashes of it in the dust on the ceiling fan, heard bits of it in the silence of a mind distracted and always seeking distraction. I felt it, ice cold in contrast to the pools that formed in my eyes while I laid awake next to a body unresponsive to my touch. It is unsettling, the huge loss of effort invested in this partner once I agreed to commit. It is unjust, the amount of initial behaviors that were only exhibited to impress and never to be replicated, having already taken advantage of my weakness. I should have known better. I should have seen it coming.
The increasing jealousy of affection and attention -- both promised to me so profusely I had begun to believe I truly deserved it -- directed towards the cat, the further degrading of my self-image from the lack of desire present in those blue-gray eyes upon me -- that is, the few times they were on me -- and the frustrating position of walking on eggshells as I continue to pace in this hole I have dug myself in all should have been flags, red as my poor vulnerable heart.
I often wonder if I've made a mistake.
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