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Writer's pictureKathia Marie

Good Times

We were happy once, right?

There had to be something before all the fights.

So why can’t I recall the good nights?


What I do recall is the night you grabbed my arm, yanked me back to your furious face, free hand rising just above your shoulder as you looked me dead in the eye.

“I’m done with you.”


Those words were so comical. As if I was the one sleeping with their ex, creating lame excuses as to why they weren’t home last night, after promising some quality time.

I hated you.


In that moment, I felt those words, bubbling beneath my lips begging to be released from their muted capsule, hardly containing the demons in my untethered mind.

I could kill you.


So much, that I had to turn on my heels with a powerful force, and storm out the front door, knowing if I looked back you wouldn’t exist much longer that night.

Gray, Only You.

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