You know it’s wrong as soon as it starts. It’s that soft voice. The gut feeling we are all told to never ignore. This intuition that whispers as you fall asleep, “You know this isn’t right.” You will try to quiet it with kisses. Let adrenaline take over and push you past your own conscience. Silence all doubt with interlocking fingers. You thunder. Your body arches, a storm of touching and feeling. You are almost successful in drowning out all other noise, but the loud will eventually subside. It always does. And you hear it again. “This isn’t right.”
You don’t want to be right. Maybe others still lurk in your mind, swimming in the parts you refuse to acknowledge when the sun rises. That one you have never known how to erase. It’s like trying to cover up Sharpie marks with pencil. You know how it must look to outsiders. Futile. Foolish. You’re trying to convince the world. But mostly, just yourself.
You were told this is how you do it. You move forward. This is it. Your friends invite you out of seclusion, they say some bullshit like, “You know you’ve got to get under someone to get over someone!” You love them, but right then, you hate them. But you do it. You paint your heart with new fingerprints. Isn’t this how you move on? Isn’t this how you feel less alone? By not being alone? But now, you are always lonely.
You feel less at home in your own skin. Small strokes become reminders of the way it felt when someone else cupped your chin with their hands. The way someone else tasted. The way someone else smelled. You might even really like this wrong person. But they are still the wrong person. At least, for you. Right now.
There is one person you are meant to be with, this person who has all the power. They own you. Control you, your self-esteem clenched tightly in their fists. You think if only you could be alone with them again, you wouldn’t feel this dull ache anymore. You wouldn’t feel so hollow. You just need them. And you do, you always do.
Because that person is you. You have always belonged to yourself. You have forgotten this, thinking you have to seek comfort in another. You use body parts for shelter, but just feel nauseous. You are always so nauseous. You think of the ones you still feel in your ribcage. That one. Their face, burned into your retinas. The other one, the wrong one, still asleep in the bed. You don’t need either of them right now.
You have yourself. You will always have yourself.