Any time I’ve ever set forth to distance myself from a man, he cries wolf. Or he pretends to be drowning. Or he convinces me that I’m drowning.

Every time I finally get more than three steps away, he’s ready to love me. He plans a weekend getaway. He brings so many flowers that I stop counting.

I pluck the petals away and then I run. There’s promise of good things happening when I make it to the other side. By the fourth pace, I taste what it feels like to be free. 

But my escapes are always short-lived. I can never quite get out of the woods before the other shoe drops and he finds me. I can never quite slap him when he lies to me.

Back to square one, same as before. I tell myself he was a good guy once, sometime way before. When did everything go wrong?

I nod along, play along, go along. I ask every so often, how long has it been now? The answer is always, always too long.




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