Nalitza Valentin
Jul 23, 2017 · 2 min read

Too much of a Great Time

We were having a great time. Too much of a great time and it slipped from my mouth like the ocean current stealing the clams pearl: I love you. She looked at me and I knew I broke her, God help her, I wish she didn’t hear that. She got off me and hurried to put on her clothes. I laid there paralyzed as to what to say next, what to do next — she knew I didn’t mean it and in a remote corner of myself, I wished I did. I wish I meant them so that when she came at me next, I had the armor of love to protect me.
She tells me, “how is it possible that of all the things you could’ve said. You said that? Like why? Why say that if you don’t mean it? If you and I both know that the only one who feels that is me.” And she was crying and her voice was shaky. I’m not a bad person, I felt bad for her, but what could I say? It was a mistake, she was giving me such a good time — — I should’ve played it off. Rolled that r behind that you and moaned pussy, but that didn’t happen. I wish I knew why I said it, I really do because I liked what we had. It was nice what we had.
I told her it slipped and she told me that was a lie. That words are things and they can’t just slip from your mouth. “You fucking threw them at me and you sit there like if you didn’t speak this pain into existence.” I wanted to hold her, but I felt like that would’ve been confusing. I needed her to know that those words were a mistake. Though, in hindsight, I see that a hug wouldn’t have made things worse, even an I’m sorry would have possibly made us cordial. Allowed her to be in the same room as me, but apologizing only felt obvious after she had gone; she left so quietly. And I haven’t seen her since.

Nalitza Valentin

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Writer, go see for yourself — Happinessishappiness.com