Monday, February 18, 2013

you introduce them to your scars on the sixth date
out of formality more than trust, unfortunately, since you
sincerely wish that the meeting didn't need to take place at all but you
sit, usually on a bed (once in a car) and you tell them to leave while they still can
and occasionally they do but often they don't.
and it all blurs together, an endless retelling of the same story that has begun to feel rather
foreign on your lips, as if you're recalling a shitty movie you saw
years ago.
and their eyes grow soft at all the same parts and you try to hold back but your voice shakes
at all the same parts and you finish, always feeling as though you've said too much with dry
eyes.

and they want to know more, they want to look, they want the story of each and they all
kiss your face and tell you that it's all going to be okay
as if you didn't know that already.





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