It’s about a boy (pt.7)

But none of this happened of course. I left that morning like I had before with my eyes clogged with shame and my clothes drenched in his sweat. He told me I would wake up different but in the morning when his silent prays for me to leave became too much for my conscience I felt very much the same. The same as before and the same as every other girl. So I stuttered across the roads and through unwelcoming doors to my own home in my own skin and sweat. And he forgot about me in my first breath outside his room. And I tried my best to forget him in the four weeks we were apart. Different, but very much the same.

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