That Night...

I wanted to write about that night...
and how it felt to know what happened but not remember.

How it felt to feel so ashamed about not remembering that I justified it,

and took the blame from him,

and absorbed it all myself.

I wanted to write about my first time being touched, being forced.

I wanted to write about wanting the person forcing me, to like me.

But imagine wanting that person to stop.

Imagine asking him to stop, and he didn’t.

I wanted to write about that.

And I wanted to write about when he finished, 
how I realized the most sacred exchange I could experience,
wasn’t experienced at all, 
it was taken.

And I wanted to write about after that night,

how I tried to make myself believe I loved him, 
because then maybe it was worth it.

And even worse, 
I tried to believe 
he loved me.