February 26th

She has scarred me as surely as if she had slashed me with her sharpened nails. She came to me bearing his mark on her skin. Visions of the two of them, humid nights of passion, the mirror image of our own. I knew she was seeing him; that was not the problem. It was seeing the lurid evidence, his teeth imprinted on her neck, him kissing her, biting her, her crying out. It suddenly became real, sordid. He was playing games with her to get at me. My eye clouded over with rage. There was a burning in the back of my throat; my stomach sank. I blurted out things I now regret. She ran.

I must try and salvage things with my old lover. I barricade myself in my room and my books again, and brood. I am always betrayed by my own anger. Time to withdraw and let my wounds heal, like a beaten dog. I will throw myself into my old ways and try to forget this incident, another trophy pinned to my wall of pain.