The difference between a hug and a homicide is intentions. Like handshakes and broken wrists or fist bumps and fist fights. If the right intentions are there anything can happen. Which is not good information to know for someone who inherently cannot trust other humans. Every phone in a pocket becomes a weapon. Every room becomes a new escape plan and every other person becomes a possible obstacle or threat. I learned at a young age that sometimes those you love the most know how to hurt you the most so if you stop loving, the pain seems like less of a burden. The more that other people know about you, the more they become a threat, so stop sharing details, stop telling your tale. I tell myself over and over that someday I’ll be right, someday it’ll pay off, but maybe when that day comes I’ll be the one bleeding on a street somewhere. Maybe I’ll be the one who just couldn’t get out in time. Maybe I’ll be the one whispering through staggered breaths, wondering why I wasted so much of my life being alone. Or maybe I’ll never know.
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