the night when i took off both shirt and bra for the first time

It comes differently now – sudden and brief, a burn of tears in the eyes, random lumps in the throat, dark lines of words. I wonder why that is, why depression manifests in strange new ways. Because of love? Because of death? Because of knowing that I’m valued (buried still is that seed of uncertainty, of fear, both of his rejection and how far I will go…), because of knowing that the mascara will run in the channels of my face.
I’m still so fragile. I’m still so scared, sometimes.
Easy come, easy go.
I love him and I can feel the echoes of his hands on me and my back feels different now that he’s touched the whole of it, skin on skin. Now I can smell his shadow. Now I can look at the soft soft curve of his mouth when he’s sleeping and not be afraid.
He was shaking when we stood there and held each other and danced, and I love him for that.
He’s beautiful.

[it’s weird reading this now. the emo i can handle, the good times, that’s harder. chuck palahniuk wasn’t quite right – there are scars for happiness. it’s easier to deal with pain in the past that i’ve evolved past than facing the fact that i was at one point really, really happy with someone who made me so unhappy in the end. and at the same time it’s strange now to look back on all of these premonitions i had about things ending.]

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