Grab my hand, a ghost grabbing my hand, and I felt his breathe, his soundless caressing, now his hand on my spine, and he's whispering "Baby I'm crazy about you." I shivered. I was walking, cigarette on hand, I was walking, briskly, heading up Market, where my gym is waiting for me, and where I could find a piece of sanctuary, where I could figure out what I needed to do to shut him out. But I can feel him. I can feel him. That's the crazy part, I can feel him. Every inch of body, I feel him.
Then this evening, his note arrived. He wrote, "Lovely pictures. It's an elegant tattoo. You look great in all directions. Even from behind you are beautiful."
I started bawling. I had thought that I could face him and be friends, but I can't. It was clear, I can't and I'm not going to contact him.
The wound is still too fresh. I can't be there because he still has control over me.
Then this evening, his note arrived. He wrote, "Lovely pictures. It's an elegant tattoo. You look great in all directions. Even from behind you are beautiful."
I started bawling. I had thought that I could face him and be friends, but I can't. It was clear, I can't and I'm not going to contact him.
The wound is still too fresh. I can't be there because he still has control over me.
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