Forgiving you

The scent of your aroma still lingers on the faces of my dusty library books I have due past the cold February date. Do you know I still remember 2 of all 7 digits of your phone number.

I dial in vain attempting to hear your voice.

The faint words hiss from way beyond the hurtful dial tones that resound in my ear. It tickles my earlobe, travelling down the passage-way settling into the back of my mind. It nestles behind old memorabilia and wishfully construed testimonies that still have not made their way into reality.

I cry. I sip my tea.

I try not to make the sound escape.

The sound of my heart is clumping into mounds of disarray.

The brown liquid trickles down my throat, searing the lining of my throat with its heat.

I can’t. I can’t let you see me like this.
I wrap the robe tighter around me.
The steam of this summer day smears my body. And I won’t take it off. You know I will wear it every day.

Hoping you will somehow feel my hate wrap around your incandescent carelessness you brazenly wear. I slump in the hard red chair. My face twists into inconsolable longing. I try not to let it go. In this obstinate heat I will sweat out my passion.

I clutch my plastic cup into a fist which clenches the folds of my skin. I sit in the corner by myself and no one seems to take notice of my rage. My unquenchable thirst for revenge I cherish for you.

Your self-importance will meld into my hard welded vengeance. I will take it back from you. Who took it from me just a few moments ago. I will charge into your domain demanding justice. You will not only compensate me for my hurt and loss but you will pay dearly with the imperceptible stinging of my words.

The spittle from my untamed tongue will spurt into your covetous eyes. My spite will scratch the cheerfulness from off your golden cheeks. I will revel when it is snatched from out of your hands and given back to its rightful owner.

Me.
Again.
I want to see it.

The tears course down from your bloated eyes –then I will know I have received my recompense.

My sweet. I will sit here and simmer in a torrent of loathe for you. As I am encased by intangible boundaries and intimidating orders I will revel in the thought of meeting you again. In a few minutes I will be liberated from this impermeable square prison.

I don’t care if I punched you in your nose. At that moment I sucked. The sweetness from your cute little face turned cumbersome. The blood fresh and red swarms from out of your nose. It is still warm and quietly throbbing against your soft butterscotch skin. You deserved it. You deserved that blow from whence your simple naivety has since been dislocated.

I don’t regret it. I don’t regret it at all.
I just want it back.
The heat pours through my veins. Venomous sweats of fury paste my hair down. Staring with hardness at the white ahead. They grow heavy from strategizing and visualizing wicked plans for you. My eyelids droop. I will soon be free. I wake up. Startled.

They brought you back? You are there. Fearfully gazing into my drowsy eyes.
You have something in your hands. Outstretched for me you surrender. I knew it. You would give in. How could you not?

Then you say something. The words are patient cascades of warmth from your chocolate breath.

“I only wanted to fix teddy’s nose.” You say.

I look to see a red button in place of the once empty space. You give it to me. I’m not sure. If I really want it. A disquietude pulsates within me.
I don’t say anything. I can’t bear you.
And something light flows through my body.
Unnamed it lifts that dreaded mass from off me.
I am overcome.
With shame I allow you to hug me.

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