For the longest time, betrayal will smell like stale alcohol, sweat and the cool breeze off the air conditioner. It will look at me with unblinking eyes from across the bed, giddy me into silence and scrape into my insides with its urgent claws for a very long time. It will leave angry red marks and look like a friend and the next morning and  for all the mornings after, it will still look like a friend. It IS a friend, and it's not betrayal, it's impulsive, and it's not anger, but affection. And there will be no words because these things happen, they happen everyday, they happen to everybody, hell people choose to betray, and this is mere infatuation and a random gesture. I am terrified of randomness, I need some order, I am craving for it right now. And I cannot talk to people because they are ballrooms full of other people and all I want now is a closet, a corner, a room to stay in. But I crave people too, people in their own corners maybe, only that it doesn't happen quite so often. There's too many realities to handle right now.