Let’s talk about me not wanting to write. Not wanting to be honest. Not wanting to write about the face of my struggles. Not wanting to get into the belly of it.

It being you. I still think about you. I don’t want to but I’ve traumatically bonded with you.

Though I know you’re not good for me

I’ve reached out to you and your answers were short and curt. You’ve reached out to me about the most random things and I’ve responded with promptness.

Silly me. Shameful me. Vulnerable me.

I know what I want.

You’re not it but you’re it.