When she touched my skin, I felt nothing, just my sense of shame. When I should have been filled with life, I felt more like a machine. I felt alone in her affectionate arms. It should have felt like a thrill, but it felt more like self-harm.
So I drove in circles like the streets had a reason. Her hands on my body felt like a disease. Quarantined, but still falling ill. Unthreatened, but still afraid. And it's not just nerves, it's a deeper damage, and that's what I can't communicate. We'll be close, but never touch. I apologize for my crumbling self.
But for her, it was nothing. Just a means to an end. Enthusiasm I can't feign, can't be bothered to pretend. Because this is the language that Americans speak: "If you don't give in, that means you are weak." Well I guess I am. Shame on me.
Songs to listen to while alone on a long drive through upstate New York, wondering if you could have done something different to keep your last relationship together. Center
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