I’m Sorry That I Never Told You I Cheated

Joe St. Pierre
Joe St. Pierre

The moon woke me up for the third time this week. The white light always looked pleasant on our white comforter surrounded by the dark sky and empty room. As badly as I know we need curtains, I can’t stand the idea of buying new curtains for an apartment that couldn’t be more run down. I turned over and watched your chest rise and fall as your body remained in its ‘c’ shape.

I know your skin. I know every inch of it, the feeling of your five o’clock shadow, hidden birthmarks with freckles due east and west, the scars, and the stories that go along with each one.

I tiptoed over to the linen closet, hitting creaking floorboards between every honking taxicab on the avenue below. When I grabbed the accordion door handle, I could hear you rustling in the low thread count sheets.

“Come back to bed.” you said while yawning away last night.
“Go back to sleep.” I let out some anxiety filled air with my words.

An ambulance and the Doppler Effect ran past our building, numbing my senses with the moment we were parallel.

“Why is every day a melodrama with you?” You sat up.

“Just please, please go back to bed” you were right, but I didn’t feel much like talking.

“I just can’t stand this much longer T, I just can’t stand living with someone who won’t talk to me.”

Your voice faded and you stared into the moon’s beam of white light.

I wanted to hate you for everything thing you were saying, for propelling me into his bed that night, for you changing and losing your luster, because we aren’t, and haven’t been what we used to be.

“Just close your eyes, and just fall back asleep, it is really just that simple,” I said firmly, hoping it would put our communication to an end.

I stood at the linen closet for five minutes, pretending to look for a blanket that I knew wasn’t there. I tiptoed back to our bed. Your body was as flat as a plank with your chest to the ceiling and your hands by your sides. Your eyes were open, and your skin hadn’t changed, but I couldn’t match your eyes to my memory. Thought Catalog Logo Mark

A recent college graduate, with a degree in Spanish Education, living on the North Shore of Long Island. A two-cup-of-coffee-a-day, baking goods and cutting sandwiches diagonally type of girl. Guilty of wearing my heart on my sleeve and maybe loving a little too much.

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