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the things we say, the things we don’t

Sometimes when she crawls into bed next to him, she’ll still pretend it’s you. His shallow breaths, the heat from his body – all of it.
 x
Her head will rest in between his shoulder blades and remember what you felt like.
 x
She knows this isn’t right, and he deserves so much more. She knows her insides are green and only getting darker each time she whispers your name instead of his in the middle of the night.
 x
She hopes one of the times your name gets called out, he’ll notice. One of the times your name gets called out, she hopes he’ll leave her for it. Her weakness swims in her belly and eats her from the inside; she calls it Selfishness.
 x
Sometimes she wishes she could scream it all out. Every single sin she feels, every single dishonesty she commits, every time her eyes close and all she sees is you. Sometimes she wishes she could scream all of that away.
But her throat dries up and her tongue swells. So she hides it behind her smile and averted eyes. And she shows it, just for a moment, in every whisper that echoes in the darkness.
 x
Somehow, he never hears her.
 x
So she still pretends it’s you.
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