There are things I needed to believe.
It was the only way to survive.
I bartered a piece of myself with the promise that I would get through it.
Less whole, less me, but at least it wouldn’t hurt as much.
I wanted this. It’s what you told me when tears streamed down my burning cheeks after you kissed me.
It’s what I told myself when your hands traveled up the inside of my thigh in your classroom.
It’s what I held onto when you asked if I wanted to come inside your house.
I knew what I was doing.
You loved me.
I begged you to tell me that when you were pushing inside of me.
You echoed the words, but the remaining sliver of my sensible soul knew it was empty.
I just needed to hear it. It had to be a love story. Because if it wasn’t, then I was truly ruined.
They were nothing but pretty lies.
Death dressed in daisies.
Still, they were my life raft.
The only thing I could cling onto in the terrifying abysmal ocean I was drowning in.
No horizon in sight.
What if I want more than survival?
I want to shed the shame, the guilt, the lies, but it’s woven into every fabric of my being. It's who I am now.
I wish it was a love story, I just don’t believe that anymore.
Edited by Haze_D