(213 Words) 9 Nov. 2017
by S.R.A. Markin
I don’t hate you; I hate myself.
I want nothing more than to text her. I want to apologize, but I know I won’t. I know I will just get upset again later today when we spend time together. I can hardly control my emotions lately. I am quick to lash out and say regretful words.
I can hardly imagine being without her. I have spent so much of my life alone, walking alone, thinking, drinking, not being able to sleep, and now I have a beautiful woman who supports me, and I can’t even say I am sorry. I can only write about it. Alone.
My anger subsides, and I make my way back to where I walked away. I go to the washroom first. I stand in front of the urinal with my dick in my hand trying to push out my piss. I just stand there, dripping from the head, with a dry mouth and debating. I zip up and make my way out. As I am walking down the stairs, I hardly look for a spot to sit before I turn around and go back up the stairs.
I can’t do this. She is right: I do quit easily. I do always walk away.
I walk away.