Writing Resources from Fifteen Minutes of Fiction
Last Saturday NightI remember what you did last Saturday night.
I remember how you held her hand, while the guilty look of furrowing brows overdid your face. The guilt and desperation to stop cheating on me, but looking at her perfect curls seemed to tempt you anyway. The way you held her, the way I died inside. She then stood up and admitted it wasn't really right. You told her you loved her. This caused her to panic, and she ended up dumping water on you. After all, how dare you love somebody when you're already in a relationship? I remember how you came to my house, wet. I asked you what you did, and you just shrugged the question off. And when I accused you, when my heart broke into a million pieces, you looked like a deer in headlights. You tried to explain, but I pushed you out of my house; out of my life.
And you don't have to come around. Or call. Or ever speak to me again. You don't have to explain yourself, or make up more lies.
Because I saw it; I saw it all with my own eyes.
I shouldn't have been there last Saturday night.
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