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Our Clock

I remember seeing the look I was given,
before the hit.
Before I felt the palm of my significant
others hand make harsh contact with my cheek.
I felt scared;
hurt;
guilty.
I deserved to feel guilty,
I most certainly did deserve to feel hurt.
And no one in their right mind would not be scared.
I remember the wrestling;
trying to calm her.
Instead just hurting her worse than ever,
taking my strength and using it to forcefully make her mine.
And I thought it could help.
It didn’t.
I made it worse until she left,
I threw the alarm clock that sat on her bed side table.
She cherished our time,
I smashed it.

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