And all they could do was cry.

Cry, cry, cry, cry, cry…

All of them confused and hurt by the outcome of the experience.

How they let boundaries be crossed because they thought they owed them something.

They consented but now and even then it feels a little wrong.

They were happy about the experience but mad about the outcome.

Mad about how something so special and well conversed could end without explanation.

They realized they aren’t mad at the participator but just hurt by the things they never voiced at the end.

They were mad that the participant was content with the end while they were paranoid with their every move without them.

How the participator seemed to grow and only then do the things that they asked of them.

Actions that could of kept the experience going.

But now it’s over and they realize it’s okay.

Nothing is wrong, there is no bad blood.

Just two participants with a little hate about the end.

Now they are finally becoming content with it.

The participant? I wouldn’t know.

I’m done poisoning my heart with bad blood that is easy to adapt to.