Your hands had a split personality; they were known to caress me, and then tried to kill me.
I made a promise to myself — I broke it. I stayed when I vowed I would go.
Your kisses were sweeter than the acidity of the bruises you gave me; your touch, when it was not burning, awakened the desire for you.
You were the hand that fed me, but I also fed myself. I kept silent.
I was tamed.
But not anymore. Promises are meant to be kept. God knows, this one was meant to be kept.
How many of us vow that we will never do this or that thing, but are not keeping that promise? Not my story above.
Have a moon morning and a starry night. 🙂
Have a lovely, sunflower weekend. 🙂