My instinct tells me to crush my heel into the gravel and into the dirt and bolt for the grassy hills on the other side of this wide open field of wildflowers we are standing in. My instinct tells me to throw a strong net over my fickle heart and hold her from jumping into the rocky, foamy sea below the cliff we perch upon.
My instinct tells me to hang up the phone. My instinct tells me to stop listening to stop listening to stop listening to her sweet voice on the other end of the line. My instinct tells me it is time to run.
It is not your time, sweet baby. It will never be your time.
Wait for the ‘but I’m not in love with you,’ that you’ve heard so many times before.
Her hands are all over my body and my mind is racing. Her lips are on my neck and I’m left trying to decide if this is how I want it to go.
My instinct tells me to push her away, but how can I when her hands are around my neck?
You were too eager, sweet baby. Too excited about being fucked to care who did it. You don’t even regret it, do you?
My instinct tells me to kiss him. My instinct tells me he and I are the same. My instinct tells me to offer him my soul.
You wrote pages upon pages about your stupid feelings for a boy who left you for the big city with a girl.
His hands hardly touched you. They grazed your arm and your back and your hands. His lips touched yours but it was all a joke, he loved someone else the whole time.