No more.
October 25, 2010 - 12:08 a.m.

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What is love?

We spoke. The words were bittersweet, needed to be said. Not enough of them were said.

"I like you," he said.

"I know," I said.

"I thought you were okay with poly," he said. "As long as everybody knew."

"I'm okay with poly, so long as the heart isn't involved," I said. "Fucking is fucking, but when the heart comes into it, things get messy."

He agreed and sucked on his cigarette, half standing outside, and the chill October air made the hair on my arms stand on end.

What is love?

A thick sadness was enveloping my heart, like layers and layers of spiderwebs, sticky and clinging.

"We can't fuck anymore," I wanted to say, needed to say. The words are there, on my tongue, perfectly cut and formed, but they never leave my mouth, because all I can think is-

A hand on my hair, a kiss to the cheek, temple, forehead. Rising to the occasion. The sweet warmth of his bed. His mouth on my shoulder while he sleeps. Bed head.

And the words, how ever hard I force them, will not leave my mouth.

When we hug goodbye, he doesn't kiss my neck. This makes me both happy and sad.

Baby, don't hurt me.

As I'm walking through the cold October night, toward the bus stop and the long ride home, I think about crying, but I don't.

Don't hurt me.

He was online still when I got home, but did not message me, nor I, him.

No more.

Before&After