Voices say you had sex every night while you were in Boston.
That those men in the hospital either did or would’ve run a train on you.
My problem isn’t so much with this story, it’s with the fact that it makes me feel bad.
Like I’m supposed to feel stupid or betrayed because you were “unfaithful” but you must’ve had some idea of what was going to happen because while you were in New York I know we broke up. That felt bad in the moment but we still met.
It takes less effort to recall the situation back then but then more effort to not see your face in every white woman that might have a bit of Nordic ancestry.
I just don’t want to feel for you at all if you want nothing to do with me, and that makes sense, right?
Way more sense than the voices telling me you’re a lesbian and at the same time, a huge slut.
There was more but I’ve calmed down.
I mean, I think back to when you said “I wish we had sex two more times” and did that mean you had more sex at the hostel than with me?
And when you said “I’ve seen it before” at the exhibit at the ICA did you mean someone from the hostel took you out on a date late in the night there?
And was your hair always brushed to hide the fact that you had sex the night before, or just because I asked on the first day when I saw your bed head?
All these fucking thoughts race through my fucking mind because of some bullshit I can’t fucking control and for what?!
You might as well have fucking murdered me and got away clean.
Fuck.