The Ones That Escaped
Silence. Ringing in the ears. Piles of gym shorts and dirty scrubs on your side of the bed. A red journal with a page torn out on mine. You move your hands towards mine. I cower.
The ceiling fan blows torn pieces of paper that hold words I will never forget on them across our bed.
You say we're fucked up. I nod, leaning closer to you as you say the words I've wanted to hear.
I ask what the next steps are.
You remove your arms from around me and move your face less than an inch away from mine, searching my eyes for answers they will never give you. You grab both of my wrists, my split cutting into my bruised arm. I flinch.
You say it's better to be fucked up and together than alone and apart. You force your lips on mine.
I say that can't possibly be. God wouldn't want this for me.
You curse my religion.
Silence. Ringing in the ears. Piles of gym shorts and dirty scrubs on your side of the bed. A red journal with a page torn out on mine.
Pieces of torn paper blowing around the room that float on into an un-fucked world.