Sunday, June 19, 2011


I'd like to first say that this was written a LONG time ago, but it documents a process that quite often occurs on an emotional rollercoaster- that process in which you attempt to villify him/her...

His face looked like a rotten tomato next to mine, marring the pictures in my albums and oozing over my good memories like a fungus, a virus, and a parasite. His hair was greasy and stuck out at odd angles, jutting into the background and messing up the lighting. His skin was oily and unpleasant, with pockmarks and scars raking across his face. His nose protruded into the fore focus, stealing the limelight and dwarfing his infinitesimally squinty, crooked eyes. His eyebrows looked like growths of mold digesting his forehead at awkward angles, putrefying his expressions into a smoothie of complex miscommunication.
I don’t know how I didn’t see it before. I look through the photographs of us, wondering how I ever could have missed it. It was so obvious now that he is a disgusting creature of little to no worth.
God, I miss him to this day.

On the day- the day that I realized how tantalizing a sunset could be when it poured sideways across bare chests and parted lips- that I had been anxious he would decide not to come over, the contusion I sustained on my fragile knee ended up lasting longer than our relationship.

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