I told her I don’t feel calm around him.
I feel anxious and excited but I don’t feel safe or at peace.

She didn’t catch it.

She heard me say he was fine though, and smart and talented.
She heard me say he started it originally, I would have NEVER approached him.
She said there’s nothing toxic about a love affair.
She said as long as we aren’t hurting other people we should lean into it.
There’s emotion there she said.
I said hello to him after months and months of telling myself no, don’t.
She said I imposed those barriers from him on myself so if I break them who am I really letting down and he got naked for me immediately, like he always does.
And I can’t resist him, I never try to.
I’m never going to stop until he cuts off my hands.
He doesn’t like himself when he is around me though.
I allow that to hurt.
So I told him she said that about us.
He said I’m the only thing that he misses from his “old life”.
That felt like a finger.
Ultimately I embarrass him for some reason.
That was certainly my thumb.
And I also somehow bring out a second person in him he doesn’t want to be.
Pinkie, gone.
There’s no changing that if that is how he feels.
I’m bleeding everywhere.
Neither of us have a healthy relationship with sex I guess.
He doesn’t submit to anyone anymore he says
and here I come again, the devil he knows.
So he broke my heart again, just like he always does
before he disappears back into oblivion where I keep dragging his ass from.
I wrap my bleeding hand in poetry about him I have lying around.
I love him so I told him, it’s okay, go.
the pressure is sufficient
this was all self inflicted
I say we can be friends if you want
so it can hurt deeper and a lot longer, the way I prefer it to
completely leaving out that last part.
He said cool but he didn’t wash my blood off that knife before he put it away.
I always knew, I have always known.
Pick a drug you don’t mind the horrible come down from…
He’s not the one.
Anxiety cut off with the fingers.
And then he told me, I need to get a new therapist.
He might not be wrong about anything at all.
When will I stop reaching for him though?
I look down at the place where my hand once was and think finally
Perhaps this is enough.
The nail polish on the only hand I have left is chipping off.
I calmly reapply it and think…

Maybe I should have told my therapist which side all this love was on.

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