What a fat lie she was, she is. And ugly truth, touching herself to the beat of my ignorance. Did she feel filled by her fingers? Fingers blurring away, melting against sugar skin. Was I so terrible? Those are the words she tossed from her mouth, and once in awhile I believe them even when I know they're wrong. Then the questions come.
How? How could she? When she made the first move, hand traveling in the air reaching for sex, did she feel stronger? How was that kiss, how did the liquor breath between them taste, and how easily did her fingers slide between her thighs? Where was her heart when I called from the airport, when I landed and she blew through the snow in her car, when I lay naked in her tired arms? I know I need to stop pressing replay, but I am weak sometimes. Neiloo isn't my past, but with even two weeks apart comes a sinking fear. What if this is my worth? What if the most Brittany loved me was the most I can hope for? I know that's not true also.
Why do I lie to myself?
