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31 March 2012 @ 06:12 pm
 
when i woke gasping in water with his fingers down my throat he held me close for safety and wouldn't let me leave. he told me ghost stories that I never believed and I let him take my virginity with his skilled fingers & body. nothing else mattered.

we held hands in darkened theatres watching movies with subtitles that made me think about life. we never introduced our families; i liked it with just me and him in the house reading books and playing music. he played the guitar sometimes but never when I was in the room, so I'd sit outside the door, closing my eyes and pressing my cheek to the floorboards as i listened to his deep voice.

he was twenty-six, a few years older than me. he made me feel safe, and not alone, even in the pitch black of night when the house made noises and the devils worked. i think we both felt a little bit weird, like outsiders who were never going to feel comfortable around other people. we had friends but it was never the same - drinking and laughing and falling down and getting back up again wasn't the same.

i don't remember his name. it was something i had to forget. he told me, you can't die. you can't die. and i promised him i wouldn't, but he never gave the same to me, and so his body was buried and i went home to my empty house and i cried.
 
 
 
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