My name is Ellie, I'm a feminist. I'm passionate and emotional and sick of apologizing for it. |
I'm learning how to write as honestly as possible; no fear, no shame.
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I’m ridding the remnants of your touch. The breeze can feel my skin weeping and your face is losing color. I’m reclaiming the warmth and the tender grace of my ankles and the dust behind my knees. You belong to your sadness and it’s been awhile since I could say I was yours, and I’ll be happy to say I’m not yours. But I’m still here lingering in hungry sighs, could you tell me how anything else would do? I’m without you. I’m a liar and this isn’t one of my best. And I’m wondering, does she touch your fickle heart when she touches your skin, how filthy, how unfaithful you’ve been? Someday we won’t know each other, I’ll let you know how it feels to be loved the way one should love another, and I’ll hope you’re more than content. How good are you at keeping secrets, darling? ’Cause I’m not the best.