when i fell out of love with you, though that's
really the truth. i remember when that psychic
connection broke and i could no longer feel you,
sense you. it was hard. i tried to hold on but it
was no good.
now i see you sometimes and i wonder that i ever
felt that way at all. your disinterest at first only
heightened my desire, my overwhelming need
to be part of your life, no matter how small. later
it became a game. i would push buttons, say
things to friends that i knew would get back to
you, would feel it when you writhed. it gave
me a feeling of corrupt power, black and
delicious. i would use the anger you felt to
tell myself you still cared.
i don't feel that way anymore. sometimes we
talk and i want to reach out my hand and touch
your cheek just to see if it still feels the same.
that rough, tender scraping feeling on the soft
skin of my palm, just as it felt on the inside of
you make a lovely memory.
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