Even if his intention was to play you, be it deliberately or not, does it really matter if you got everything you set out to get? His attention, his time, his perception, his willingness, his sex, his consideration. Who’s more wrong him for giving his penis to more than just you or you for expecting his attention to be your medicine.

Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m saying?

You saw him as a challenge. You thought he was some thing and not some one and you wanted him. You wanted all of him. You wanted him any way you could have him, just to be had. To be held. And now that you’ve seen his hands else where, you’re mad?

It’s not his resposibility to define you. If you weren’t happy before you met him, its impossible for you to be happy with him. Count him as a goodbye. Charge him to the game and mark the memory in the tie column.

You can not enter into an interaction looking to be defined by who you are if you have no clue who that person is. Your savior is not sleeping beside you, slipping inside you, grabbing behind you, your savior is not that orgasm you thought was going to wipe out the image of every other woman from his eyes. Because you can’t see how you measure against the rest of the world. So you measure your worth but how much time he’s willing to spend touching you.

If you thought you were no one prior to the sex how much cum does it take to add weight to the person you became afterwards. Wringing out your skin over a unfamiliar toilet doesn’t give you purpose.

Prostitutes settle up for far more than money. And an emotional whore is no more saved than the whore who has next week’s rent on the dresser.

So I ask you, what are you mad for? What are you sad for? You saw an opportunity to heal your wounds with arms that seemed longer than your own. Your moan was just loud enough to block out the voices in your head from reminding you that the drive home was coming, harder than you. And, the drive home was the dead man’s last walk. The street looked like responisibility, the light blurred your garbled self image far more than any mirror ever could. And he was still living his life none the wiser of the healer you had made him out to be.

Then that day came. Phone calls might as well have been palms in his back. Pushing him towards anything that looked liked freedom. And you fell, slapped in the face with reality, back at your beginning, look for some one else to blame for you not having an indentity.

Life is not like a box of chocolate. You are not Forrest Gump. It is time to stop running. Pick yourself up off this trip and throw away the convenience of blame. Take a nice long look in the mirror and force yourself to like what you see.

Your self worth can not be measured by the amount of hours you are held by those arms but by the days you spend in that mirror, arguing with a reflection that taunts you, realizing no matter the insults that spill forth, it is up to you to walk away whole.

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