I feel like I am possessing the body of my boyfriend’s missing wife. I live in her house with her things, that I can’t get rid of in case she comes back one day. Sure I boxed a lot and my boyfriend put them in the attic, but they are here. Everywhere. Pieces of her. Glimpses of her. And because I possess her body, and not my body, every one thinks I am her. So I am constantly hearing how I like things I don’t like and how I’ve done things I haven’t done. And I’m trapped in this body, this sick, too tight, too squishy, covered in tattoos I don’t like, and can’t cover up. I have a haircut I don’t like that I shouldn’t change. All in case she comes back. And how would she feel if her body was different, and her stuff was gone. But, that’s how I feel. My body is old and different and not cute and not as good. And I’m stuck with it. I could make it better, for me, but what about her feelings.
But what about my feelings.


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