Combust.

A place for my twisted heart to vent.

[quietaphrodite]

He'll never know what the truth was.

He'll only ever know what was whispered into his ear.

He'll never know the depth of

My hurt

My want

My need

My love

For him.

He'll only ever know the mask I wore.

He'll only know the lies I told.

He'll only know what other said.

He'll never know what I was too scared to show him.

He'll never know the things I was too scared to tell him.

He'll never know the vulnerability that he made me feel.

He'll never know a damn thing.

So it's time to leave.

It's the least I can do.

[quietaphrodite]

It stopped.

It had to.

I knew it would.

And it did.

But this sadness.

This hurt.

This dam of emotions opened.

And it's over.

And all I'm left with is everything I didn't deal with.

And it's done.

Finally done.

[quietaphrodite]

He's literal bad luck.

He's messed up his karma so bad.

It affects everyone and everything around him.

I should know better.

I should stop.

His karma lingers on me for days after being with him.

It's little things.

The smallest little things that happen.

He's bad luck.

I need to stop things.

For me.

For my well being.

For my karma.

[quietaphrodite]

Another day.

Another lovers' spat.

Another urge to mess with his life.

Another need to be to as vicious and toxic as humanly possible.

Another reason to walk away.

Another to be continued...

[quietaphrodite]

Every time I think it'll be different.

Then, he shows me I am alone in how I feel.

I am alone.

So, I'll show him two can play.

I know how to play this.

Who can care less.

I have options and stability in other places.

You don't care, fine.

I don't either.

[quietaphrodite]

I'm doing him for the plot...

I mean 'it'... doing it for the plot.

[quietaphrodite]

Making the choice to be delusional.

Making the choice to believe that I am what he says I am.

Choosing to give into him.

I mean after all this time, there has to be some pearl of truth.

The way he goes cold when another man comes near me must say something.

The way he glares or makes a joke that's not a joke about other men must mean something.

Even a just a bit.

Even just a tiny bit.

Even just a teeny, tiny bit.

A teeny, tiny, microscopic bit.

And that's enough for me.

[quietaphrodite]

The way he misses me.

The way he shows me.

The way I can't resist him.

The way he can't resist me.

The way we've gotten better at hiding.

The way I can't stop.

The way he won't leave.

The way I don't see an end.

[quietaphrodite]

I miss him.

And no one knows.

They don't understand how much I need him.

Knowing he's there and I'm here.

Wondering if he's missing me or flirting with some other woman.

I mean, I'm not completely innocent.

I am seeing someone else.

Someone who gives me what he can't.

And I wonder if it bothers him even when he says it doesn't.

The jokes about how no one better flirt with me or touch me.

Is it a joke, or is he hiding how he feels.

I wonder how he feels.

[quietaphrodite]

He is Reputation.

[quietaphrodite]

When I see a couple in an intimate circumstance, I see him and no one else.

He's whose lap I want to crawl into.

To kiss him until we can't breathe or see correctly.

I want to roll over in the early morning or in the middle of the night and crawl on top of him.

I want to feel his hands around my hips, skating up the curves of my body.

I want to feel him, his skin against mine.

When I see reels or TikToks of couples, I wish it were us.

[quietaphrodite]

The flashbacks aren't as strong as they used to be.

But they still exist. And come suddenly.

The feel of his hands on me.

The feel of his shoulders under my fingertips.

I'm addicted to the feel of his body beneath my touch.

I can feel him when he's not with me.

That's what's keeping me.

That's what needs to go, so I can go.

[quietaphrodite]

When he touches me, I lose all defenses.

I forget why I need to let him go.

When he treats me like I'm important to him, I forget all the reasons I'm not important to him.

We both are now, officially, in the same places in our personal lives.

He makes me feel desired even when my makeup is light and my hair is dry shampooed.

The way he wraps his hand around my neck and makes me look up at him before he bends to kiss me until I can't breathe lights my soul on fire.

I suppose air does that to fire. Makes it blaze brighter, spread further and become wild.

I crave him, all day, every day.

And ten times more when he's in front of me.

Clear memories of us will never stop flashing through my foggy mind.

He consumes me and I love the way he eats.

The way he grabs.

The way he rubs.

The way he is.

I don't think I'd survive without the drama, the anticipation, the climax.

I, now, need him like oxygen.

Or maybe a chemical release.

I need him and that's all I know.

[tonysopranobignaturals-deactiva]

they should make a version of my life where everything didn't go horribly wrong when I was 14

[quietaphrodite]

He came in and flipped everything I knew upside-down.

He definitely met me blow for blow.

And now, I can't let go.

Almost 2 years later, and I can't let him go.

They all think it's over. But it just feels more free.

Privacy is the way to go. To protect.

I got him and he's got me.

There's no end in sight.

Not yet.