You would do it without leaving any of your heart behind. You’d do it and feel good about it. You’d remember me fondly, but if we were ever forced into the same room again, you wouldn’t wonder if I looked the same under my clothes. You wouldn’t be consumed by the thought that we used to lay next to each other naked. You wouldn’t wonder about my mouth. You wouldn’t want to touch me. You wouldn’t hang around in a corner waiting for me to come near so that you could seduce me. You would let go.
I would be bitter. I wouldn’t remember anything nice about you. I’d remember all the bad things. I’d cry about you to my next lovers. I’d tell them it’s your fault I am a failure when it comes to love, and the one before you and so on. And if we were forced into a room together, I’d keep thinking of how your hands used to touch my body, how you used to kiss me between the legs, and now you won’t look me in the eye. I’d still be a sad girl with a broken heart that I’d want to cut up the world with. I’d wait for a moment alone with you and then remind you of my body. Not by showing you. Not by telling you. Just by letting the silence between us force you to remember it. Then I’d kiss you in the dark just to prove I could make you give in to me. It’d be half out of love and half out of a need to be your weakness.