Yes, I now that I am in the middle of writing about the cool shit I got to see during my holiday in  London buuuuuuuuut  As I was cleaning the shit off this computer I found some stuff I had written awhile ago and I just never shared it because why the fuck should I? oh boo hoo me, writing prompting the fuck out of my life.  I was going to write it into a book, but the book I was working on went to shit and I ended up hating both the MMC and the FMC and they had zero character arc.
In my class we talk about the character’s writing themselves and it’s very true.   The shitty part about that is that sometimes they are just shitty people.   So instead of deleting all this shit…I will put it here.

The end of what we shared was played out in a text to a friend.

She didn’t know what I went through before I lit us on fire.
The begging to stop. The threats of leaving if I find another stash of your empty bottles in the garage.

 You made a point of referencing a number of times I broke up with you. You have a number, but I have the pain it caused me to say the words, “please, stop…it is too reminiscent of my youth. I just can’t.”

Put your hand over my mouth and don’t let me tell my side.  They don’t need to know the truth, it doesn’t fit your narrative of the woman you turned me into.

Poke.Poke.Poke.

Say you want to hear what is wrong, but only my tears were good enough.
“Don’t you feel better?” a shy smile after watching me shatter to get your fix.

The hottest summer and coldest winter. I offered to fix it, but you wanted me to sweat and watch me shiver.

I’m just here to say.

Your account was hearsay.

Don’t punch the clock at my funeral. Stay in bed with your hangovers.  No need to put on your hand me downs and perform for the people you lied to and then smiled when they put me here.

They didn’t like you, but they don’t like me either.