“why would you intentionally allow someone to wield power over you? you step perfectly in place for them to checkmate you.”

“yes,” i say with a smile. “that’s the point.”

she scowls. “losing?”

“giving enough of yourself to another person that you have something to lose.”

“i kissed you because i wanted to kiss you,” she says. “isn’t that enough?”

no! i can’t bring myself to honesty. looking her in the eyes is like dancing with fire. dangerous. “i kissed you because i want to be with you,” i offer, looking away.

she tenses. it’s the most affected i have ever seen her.

can't go back. talking to you at this point feels like trying to unshed a skin. uncomfortable and discontent, i think i am better off without the feeling of you looking at me like this. as if i planned it, as if i knew the taste of you would bend and snap, like an unwrapped ******* that sat too long. i knew people sometimes got stale like food but who was to say it wouldn't be different with you. unfortunately nothing is different; you are only you and i am only me, a girl with a thousand shed skins
at a loss for how to proceed.

i stand at the doorway and know where it goes.
i keep knocking and i wait for anyone but this ******* self.

who is my self? different people held together by a string? a shelf? a suitcase of forgotten touches and bad health?

i forget myself over and over again.
where are you?

we wait. together on the doorway, opposite sides.
no plant hangs from me.

freedom lays where you left her. bring her with you next time.
i wait at the doorway and stop.

knock.
hello me.

stop DRIVING me INSANE
i ask for NOTHING and you still disappoint.
i just want you.
you just want destruction.

crack it. my Finger stiff of cold. she doesn't care but i do, typing pop pop on keys too soft to snap. I'm full of **** and **** faced of me, praying for A New Thing to come along, any new thing works for me. hm. Wild Thoughts and yikes a little too much Love From Me. affectionate failure is still Bad when I am pretty.

bad things come here when i Say More Words than for me. Hold trinkets of apathy. Drop me.

i'm forgiveness alone in the booth. Ten cards from the deck of promises, two glasses mirroring my own. French. fingers shaky but on the inside, she holds her own hand. old. wood and wooden tables People talk. they hold their eyes and legs and wish they were not talking as they do. The talk is more, the talk is less. Words forget and for the Window Booth sit. alone. forgiveness.