I read your diary today.
I read about how you kicked her dog just to make her cry. I know all about how you feel guilty about thinking of other women when we fuck, even if it is only sometimes. I know now that you don’t know how to spell “definitely.”
Your handwriting is really girly, you know that? It makes me sick. You obviously spent time perfecting it, working to make the loops look just right. I can’t believe those fucking To-Do lists in the midst of all the pages of whining and crying about how you’re starting to look old. Work on Backyard, Drink More Water, Think more about Retirement Investments. I should have added in red ink, just underneath, Stop Lying to Yourself in your own Diary, you Piece of Shit. The neighbor’s teenage daughter does not have a crush on you, despite your endless efforts to charm the low-riders off of her.
I didn’t see much mention of my name. Your wife, apparently, doesn’t come to mind much when you’re alone, blaming your mother on paper for your every flaw. You did mention though that you hate how slack my face has gotten around the jawline, and that sometimes when you look at me sitting a certain way I repulse you.
I already knew that. I can see it in the way you hold your mouth when you look in my direction. Your empty, whispered compliments roll off my flesh like beads of oil. I loathe the way you smile when you say that I’m beautiful–an ugly, teeth-baring smile that belies your every word. At night, when you touch me, I pretend we’re still new at this and that you didn’t turn the lights off again. Or I pretend you’re the boy from the copy center who touches my arm every time I visit.
I know your weaknesses. I know you hate your body and you shame yourself at every turn. Knowing what I know now I will pick at those scabs on your soul every day until they bleed. And scar.
I read your diary, and I’m not at all sorry about it.
18 comments ↓
I used to lie to myself in my own journal. It sickened me too. Fantasizing that someone would find it and read a better, more polished version of myself that you had to believe because hey,he wrote it in his own private diary…it has to be real. Thank God for growing up.
This is the best thing I’ve ever read on this site.
It is like a literary super lemon.
More stuff like this.
Well wait a minute…not to be a
dumbass, but is this real (I so
hope it isn’t)…and if it is real,
is our Brittney in pain? I hope
you are ok Brit,
a friend
I was wondering that myself… fact or fiction?
Fiction.
I’m glad you clarified that, I was like “who the hell?”
>>I didn’t see much mention of my name. Your wife, apparently, doesn’t come to mind much when you’re alone, blaming your mother on paper for your every flaw. You did mention though that you hate how slack my face has gotten around the jawline, and that sometimes when you look at me sitting a certain way I repulse you.
That section pretty much clued me that it was fiction–Brittney and the VCB aren’t married (yet), and she’s too young to have slack skin on her face. She’s rather comely, actually. I hope the VCB realizes how lucky he is.
Yeah, but it doesn’t mean it is not in regards to a previous relationship… I know my Sis, she holds grudges ;)
Hey there
Nice bit of writing.
An interesting novel for diary dynamics is Tanizaki’s “The Key”. Highly recommended. Explores different levels of readership/voyeurism as a husband and wife each read the other’s diary and become aware that the other is reading theirs.
“The Key” sounds like it would be right up my alley. Thanks, Kaf.
Fiction? Boy you sure had me going. Great stuff.
Hey Brittney–
Kaf’s post got me to thinking–it would be an interesting exercise to try writing the unnamed husband’s perspective as a corollary to the wife’s thoughts. Kind of a “twin soliloquy” thing, with a self-destructive twist.
What I like best is that you have to use the word “read.”
I can’t tell if I’m supposed to think “red” or “reed.” Which I always love about reading that word on paper.
‘…I know now that you don’t know how to spell “definitely.”‘
Good story, great line, and from now on stay out of my diary!
that was amazing!
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