I never thought it would come to this. You sitting there, saying those words. Me storming out of the room, speechless with anger. If we could see the word bubbles above our heads, comic strips in real life, mine would be blank spaces, shot throughout with emotions but utterly wordless.

Why is it that once I leave the room, the words come flooding back? The blank spaces fill up with text, cutting, sarcastic, biting. Perfect. But it’s too late to turn around and say them.

Which I suppose is just as well.

Words can be knives, piercing deep the heart.


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