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Finicky Fights
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I feel my chest begin to tighten as you speak. The words are rattling around my head but not making contact. I can’t even begin to form a thought or argument that you would consider noble or witty. But we continue to taunt each other from across the kitchen, it’s a sparring match of sarcasm. A friendly crossfire of our worst insults. Except this one hits too hard. It’s a deep wound inside of me, welling up out of nowhere. I am dissociating. “That was just plain mean”, I shrivel back as I place a spoon in the sink. “You started it, with your snarky comment about my brother, don’t dish it out if you can’t take it back” This isn’t a fun game anymore. What started out with simple jabs at one’s ego becomes an embarrassing gaping hole in my heart. Ouch. too far. Not fun. You come closer “Listen, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it” I know you didn’t and yet I feel like a kicked puppy. I feel like a loser, a baby, a total wimp. I am a wilted flower, a dried up leaf, a soggy bagel. “It’s okay, it’s okay, I don’t want to turn this into an actual fight”

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