tumblinas.

…last night or things not to do when you’re failing in love.

the bed seemed too foreign without him next to me, I let the darkness take my hurt and hide it outside the door. Lost and grieving, his arms a familiar space where I could chase sleep and pretend that I didn’t know those same arms belonged to a man skilled in fuckwittery.

He wanted reassurance through tenderness, his lips touched my neck,and I moved away, but the feel of his tears on my shoulder kept me still when his hand rested on my hip. His hurt stung me and I wished I didn’t care, wished I could be more like him.

So, I fucked him. Selfishly. Dodging his attemps to make love, shielding my soul behind my rage, out of his reach.

I woke up and the morning handed back my hurt along with passengers humilation and shame.  I left quietly and waited till I knew he would be at work before returning home.

His text message complete with a kiss an hour later, made me cry.