Revealing Vulnerability

In my book tonight, I was remind­ed of the time I was sit­ting on the floor of my room and you were lying on the bed when I felt the foun­da­tion shud­der beneath me. I mapped the escape route in my head, thought of the coats cause it was the end of win­ter, and was about to grab your hand to lead us out­side if the earth shook again, threat­en­ing to bury us in three sto­ries of wood and con­crete. I told you to be ready to run upstairs on my word. How I loved you then.

And I real­ized that I can write about it until my fin­gers are sore, I can think about it into the ear­ly hours of the morn­ing, but I can’t tell you how much you hurt me.

For in doing so, I reveal my vul­ner­a­bil­i­ty.


  1. I hate those feel­ings. I had a rela­tion­ship like that. It was right before everything.went.irrevocably.sour. He hurt me, so I had to cut the ties.

    I am still on the mend. But my Love now… he is still will­ing to mar­ry me.

  2. I don’t com­plete­ly hate those feel­ings. I think it makes me a lit­tle more human.

    What would I write about, oth­er­wise?

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