I will be kind because I am kind. I will be soft because I am soft. I will be gentle because I am gentle. I will be patient because I am patient. I will be me, fully, entirely, now and until the end. I will not let my pain paint me into a monster. My soul is fragile and pure and loyal and loving and so am I.
— Eeva-Liisa Manner, from “The Way The Seasons Changed.”
Maybe I imagined it all. Wouldn’t that be beautiful? If it wasn’t real? If it wasn’t true? I can’t remember anymore. Maybe you did not exist after all. You did not hurt me. Could you have kissed me then, and perhaps I spun it into something else? Does the mind do that? I can only remember the smell of chocolate and the call of your mother’s voice, wondering where we were. I can only remember the dress I wore and how it was pushed up against my thighs with the weight of you. Did I even say no? Did I lead you on? Did I force you? I was kissing you, and when you kissed me back it was hard and soft and I melted into you. Did it stop there? I touched your hips and pulled you into me. I wanted you, I did, but I still said no. I told you no. I said no, didn’t I? I cried after, didn’t I? You laughed at me, remember? Can you remind me? Call me tomorrow, today or never; I’ll pick up, I promise. Because I can’t remember if you hurt me. I can’t remember if I lied because it doesn’t seem real. Why would you hurt me? Maybe I imagined it. Maybe we’re beautiful again.
