When I was 15, I met someone who changed my life.
How will you know how it will affect you if you don’t go for it?
I wish I knew what was wrong.
Love is devastating and all-consuming and terrible in its resistance to all things logical.
I miss feeling like there was someone in my corner, cheering for me and taking on the world with me. Someone who wanted to spend lazy Sundays with me and date nights downtown. Someone who wanted to share his life with me and share in mine.
Depression and anxiety. Two words, two concepts, two illnesses that affect thousands of people on a daily basis.
I don’t resent you. I don’t regret the time we spent together.
I’m not writing to accuse you of hurting me. I am just trying to inform you of your actions and how they have affected my life.
But damn if I didn’t fantasize about going home with him, ripping his clothes off and having him fuck me up against a wall.
We’re now in new territory, way past where our usual love-making takes us. We’re in full porn mode, only this is real; her moans are real and her orgasms are real, and her whole body is shaking.