Dear the most important person in my life,
Did you know that when you touch me intimately, I want to cry? That when you caress me in ways that lovers should, I feel disgusted? That when you try to put your lips anywhere other than my mouth, I want to cover my face and sob?
I know it’s not normal, but I can’t help it. Maybe it’s because he touched me all those years ago and all I can see are his hands instead of yours. All I can smell is his rancid breath and all I can feel are his clammy hands, when I want so badly to be able to feel you.
But I can’t.
Did you know that I’m dying? Not from a disease or illness, but from my hatred. And my embarrassment.
Of course you don’t know these things because I’ve never told you. Because I can’t tell you. Because if I do, you’ll see how damaged I truly am and you’ll leave me. And I’ll be nothing.
So I’ll keep pretending that it’s great and that I welcome your touch and I’ll never let you see that when I shower after it’s done, I sit on the cold floor and scrub every area that you touched.
And I cry.
I love you.