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The Night I knew I Was Going to Leave the Father of my Baby

i bought a cake. it was the only thing i remembered not to forget. a nice one.

i sat down at the table thinking, “what did we do for my birthday?” i couldn’t remember anything. he described the events. oh. i thought. its like i wasn’t even there.

the family left happy and wished us many more years like this. i didn’t feel sad which is how i normally feel at these events because the idea of what i want never matches the reality. i wasn’t looking for anything last night. i just saw where i wanted to go very clearly. so it was a very happy event.

a little fight. a little yelling. a little victory for someone, a little failure for the other. “i fucked you again!” a hard hand hits my head. “who fucked you? Me!”

live to pacify the one yelling or live to gauge your value on whose ‘the man’… little insults and little displays of disrespect happen in every couple, or so they say. anything is tolerable. i, as of two months, have been getting too proud to continue to allow myself to feel so small.

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