porto allegre drive

everything about those six months remains obscured by a stretch of 48 hours on the canal downtown.

he had dark hair almost to his waist. he smoked clove cigarettes and told me i had the "biggest, poutiest eyes imaginable." he was tall, so from above me i'm sure it looked that way.

after dinner and coffee we went back to my apartment and watched a movie.

i took him to bed. before i closed the door behind us, i knew i didn't want him there. it was going to hurt. i was scared. i thought i was in love (with someone else). but we crawled under the covers and i touched him. i let him touch me. after dinner and coffee and all our suggestive conversation, i felt obligated. like i owed him at least this much.

the orgasm left me sobbing. i finally found the words. i said no.

we slept.

after he left the next day, i ate every scrap of junk i could find in the house - wanting to make myself believe that it hurt this badly for some tangible, physical reason. my fever kicked into high gear as my blood sugar rose.

after i puked, i drank. when i started bumping into furniture, i called the man who was the reason for all of it. i told him everything that had happened and he laughed at me. i said, "i've still got you in my head."

i was incapable after all of wanting anyone else. i would feel guilty for weeks about how i treated this other man. i would feel guilty for weeks about how i treated myself.

how much more concretely can i demonstrate the difference between 20 and 23? i ball up in anger over the knowledge that i allowed myself to fall that far. how little self respect i had.

my heart is still broken for that barely existant shadow of a destroyed little girl.

the apartment on porto allegre drive, it wouldn't bear the weight of anything else.