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It's 10:43am on a Sunday, and I'm drinking a Tropicalia IPA with your sperm still inside me.
You're gone.
I texted you "I wanted to be exclusive and included in your life. I can't be a placeholder." The past tense was on purpose.
Last night was so horrible it was almost a gift. You arrived the latest you ever had and sat in your bear chair and closed your eyes and said you're tired. I was hungry, so I ordered the car. I paid for everything except the ride back.
We had decent oysters and crappy crab dip.
You dithered over all the movie choices I made. I bet you won't even install the Criterion channel pillow I gave you. You told me that you got yourself a nicer Roku than the one you gave me, and I had already been schooled that you'd only spend $30 on me.
Like I said or thought as I was seething in the bed after you fell asleep without kissing me on the sofa (the memory of you devouring me on that sofa burns) - you made it so clear you were so done with me.
It hurts to remember the times you lit up when you saw me - when you gave me your mind and liked to share things with me. I have no idea what happened - which part of me you saw that made it all change. Maybe it really was Wilmington.
I was in the bed at 10:45pm and got the notion that you were just fucking with me - so I checked to make sure you weren't playing on your fucking phone on the sofa while I was in the bed waiting for macon love that never came.
You didn't apologize the next morning. Normally, I scoot into you and you respond, but after you came to bed the night before, I had touched you thrice, and you rejected me even though I obviously knew you were awake and had hoped you'd had a bit of a nap.
It sucked.
to feel.
so, the next morning, I said to myself, if this fucker doesn't touch me, I'm getting out of the bed at 8:34. He touched me, and we had four minute sex. I guess I could be flattered that I turned him on so much. A proper fucking placeholder.
I made breakfast. He complained about it.
It wasn't that great.
We sat around in silence - comparing Worldle at my instigation and talking about how the movie we never saw the night before might have been good.
I wasn't allowed in your head, and I wore my simpy armor of a smile.
You're going to thumbs-up my text that took all the balls I had to send because I knew that would be the last tendril.
I didn't kiss you as you left. Or maybe I did, I don't remember - we only do pecks when you don't want to prelude to fuck me anyway. I said what you had said to me the last time I left.
"I had fun."
we both know that I did not have any fucking fun (the clitoris is located at the top of the two labia).
last night.
and I had had feint hope - hope that you might like me - that I could be fun for you again.
it fucking sucked.
thanks for everything. you'll never read this, and I'll never talk to you again, but I loved you so much it makes me sob now to type it. (and I swore last night that you'd never get another drop from my salt-watered eyes). Wrong again.
back to beer.
Have a good cheeseburger king.
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