Memory of Me At Twenty

I am twenty. I am in love. She is beautiful. But has a tongue as sharp as a razor. I should run away. As fast as I can. Instead I get out the grindstone and sharpen it more. I think she is Seeing other men. We fight She slashes me with her tongue. I throw a cup at the wall. It smashes into shards. Just to show her what bad things good people could do. I break the silence. I love you I whisper. What I should have said. Was Don't leave me I hate sleeping alone.