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Can you forgive the cruelty of my kindness?
Each word I spoke was true to the heart, every word and action a truth in their own, just not as you envisioned. Never did I realise the other meanings to them would you seek, Yesterday, never thought of the pain they could cause.
Can you forgive my misinterpretations of your actions?
Coffee mornings, late night shopping and the odd theatre trip, not more than friendship did I ever see or think to see. I was aware of your personal tastes as I thought you were of mine, not for one moment did I stop to think of my own words so long ago.
"You fall in love with who someone is, not what they are, we all just prefer them a certain way."
I said that the day you told me of your preferences, that day you were so offended when I burst out laughing after you told me. It took nearly an hour before you would let me explain myself, Yesterday, that I was worried there was something seriously wrong stressing you out and to find it was
Teenage TaoismGiving birth is the closest I’d ever felt to dying.
Before that, my near death experiences had consisted only of my silent announcement of pregnancy—silent, being that my social media accounts were all deleted almost simultaneously and I never returned to school in the fall, saying without really saying that I had caught the malicious disease of “teenage pregnancy”. I’m sure the whisper spread in the hallways like the Bubonic Plague. That September, sitting at home on what would have been the first day of my senior year, I imagined friends I’d never talk to again saying “she was only seventeen, and so full of life!” at my absence in the cafeteria tables, as if they were attending my funeral instead of talking about me behind my back.
"Full of life," I had snorted then, folding a never ending stream of what had once been my own baby clothes. "Literally."
I walked around like a zombie for the months of my pregnancy, deciding t
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