Monday, July 15, 2013

no time remains.

To the boy who broke my heart hymen,
You told me to "clean up" afterwards. I refused; thinking angrily that there was nothing dirty about me or what we'd just done. Instead, I wrapped myself inwards and pretended I didn't exist.
When you insisted (more forcefully this time) that I really should go "clean up", I unwound and went to inspect the damage. A blood soaked condom lay next to the basin and I was leaking red again. Somewhere deep in my stomach there was an ache that wouldn't go away. My whole body was groaning. So I attended to the debris between my legs; even though I felt damaged, not dirty. A hug or a kiss was what I needed, not this.
From now on, I will have sex with people I love. Otherwise they treat your blood as dirty, your baggage as a burden and use their hands to seek, not explore (I was constantly touching his contours but he wasn't interested in mine). Love means that even without physical sensations the meaning (and perhaps feeling?) is still there.
Fuck you asshole, we're through.
Sincerely yours, Erimentha x
PS. I still think of you