There’s condensation on my vodka.
I promised that yesterday would be my last drink and yet here we are, me with my glass and you somewhere else oblivious to the pain you caused. The bartender looks at me like I’m an acceptable mess to take home and yet I wonder in the end what’s the point, if what I wanted was a 2nd place fuck and empty stares I’d just head home back into your arms.

I was barely a teen the day that we met and you were the face of the man I would one day hate to love. You received the pure version of me, untouched by heartbreak, unbroken by disappointment, full of unrealistic hopes and childhood dreams. Ten years, three therapists, two maxed out credit cards later; I contemplate if my best option tonight is this bartender’s overly stained sorry excuse of a bed.

Everything that I wanted to keep for myself I wore on the curve of my lips. All things that were stolen the moment you laid hands on me and gave me my first kiss; and yet all the love I packed in boxes and wrapped as gifts you tossed and burnt year after year.

But I’m here again.

My eyes roll back relishing in the familiarity of your cologne. My mind struggles to detain my bodies reaction without success. I’m caught between you, the wall and my guilt for I’ve become the liar and screamed fuck the words I preach. I feel the slight spread in my legs when your hand slides up my thigh knowing every inch I give you is someone else’s now. I’m too far gone the moment your tongue catches mine, my heart runs to you, I can almost see it holding itself in a straight jacket, begging me to stop. But we’re home. And I am the me that I used to be for you. And I am the you I’ve always known for someone else. And as my back curves into you from the simple stroke of your right hand I’m struck by truth.

I’ve become you.

Missio hit me straight in the soul of the fucked up person I’ve become… I hope you don’t judge me love and leave my mistakes at the door.
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