It was the love a life time all condensed into one summer- three months. Three months of needy touches and and a single pair of eyes that begged to whisper ‘I love you’ as hands roamed freely over one another.
If you’ve ever wondered if three months is enough time to have you’re heart physically ripped out of your body, thrown in the dirt, and stomped on I am here to tell you as a first hand witness that yes, its more than enough time.
Never-the-less, it was never supposed to be this way. The only thing my eyes should have been clouded with was lust and my hands that flowed so fierce void of passion to drive them. I had known this.
I would like anyone and everyone to know that it takes time. Even for the strongest, soundest minds it takes time. You may think you’re done pitying yourself, over it. You may even believe that. And maybe for the most part you are over it. Sometimes though, that shell you’ve used to repair the damage cracks and out comes a slew of questions. What happened? What did I do? When did it go bad? And why didn’t it work the way I fooled myself into believing it would?
Just a short story (maybe a prologue??) please give me critiques and feedback is always appreciated 💕
