and so it starts, the scratching at oneself, picking, peeling the skin, forcing the imperfections away to new pink under my gel-hardened fingernails
and yes, he did get in touch as soon as he could, and it is only my fault that I was not awake, not waiting devotedly for him to kick my heartbeat back into action, my fault that I was not there to pick up and pick myself up.
I do try not to be jealous, but every time we do get together, but somehow she seems to manufacture a drama, and the worst thing is, I think it is he who manufactures it. I know he feels guilt, he told me so, because we are open enough to say anything to each other. My guilt is a DNA double helix, curved around him and protein bonded. How can I have a good time and not be just a good time girl?
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