I entered the room and saw him sitting on my bed. His face stony and humorless. Before I could wonder, my eyes dropped to the book in his hands. My book. My journal. Expressing my most intimate thoughts and feelings and desires. Recorded by my own hand. By myself and only for myself. You’ve betrayed me, he accused me glaringly. I can’t believe what you have written.
I apologized for the evil in me. I cried and pleaded and wished it away.
Only now do I realize:
He betrayed me.
Poems and Petals 
I’ve read all of your posts today Vonita, and this one is my favourite piece, with a great finale.. Oh and enjoyed reading them all, quite a fascinating read, and they jelled together nicely.
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Thanks Ivor, I’m in bed with flue and this is what happened, just a whole lot of poetry came forth.
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Haha, beware of the sick poet. hope you’re feeling betterer soon.
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😍😍😍
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Thank you 😊
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