One. 
I remember I used to stare at you.
Sitting in the passenger seat of your car, searching your back-lit profile for something. 
Anything.
Whatever it was that I needed, I never found it, and I let you mistake my hopeful gaze for adoration.
It was better that way.

Two.
I remember I used to lay next to you.
I would trace my fingers through your ribs.
Jawline.
Collarbone.
Hipbones.
I was just a bag of bones.  
Looking for something.
Anything.
But never found it, and I let you mistake my searching fingers for loving caresses.
It was better that way.  

Three. 
I remember when I met your mom. 
Standing in that expensive kitchen, telling her all about myself.
Every last thing there was to know about me.
Anything she wanted.
I had this nagging hope that, maybe by telling someone my past, I’d figure out what the hell I was presently becoming.
I let you mistake it for friendliness.
It was better that way.  

Four.
I remember choking down that dinner.
Any other time I’d be delighted to enjoy a choice cut, but I was sick to my stomach.
I wanted to go home and-just-fucking-die, but I needed an excuse.
Anything.
Food those days just wasn’t my style. 
102 pounds, and wavering, wavering.
I threw up anything I put in my stomach. 
So I took it all in, as if my ticket out the door. 
I let you think I was sick from the flu, but I was only disgusted with myself.
It was better that day.

Five.
I remember sitting on my bedroom floor.
I remember the a/c stinging my raw eyes.
I remember every word I wrote in that letter.
I remember what it felt like to have the life rushing out of me.
“It’s better this way, it’s better this way.” 

nataliemarye:

My love for you is corrupt.

Write down the words and then I’ll snort them up.

- M. Doughty