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Friday was quiet. No men. No mythology. No strange little plot twists waiting behind a cocktail glass. I went home, cooked, and rested. Which, apparently, was the universe conserving energy. Because Saturday got loud. I found a beautiful little coffee shop downtown, ordered something delicious, opened my homework, and settled in wearing an off-white lace…
I came in Pint Sized Mechanic’s bed before he even touched me. Which, frankly, feels rude. Not rude of me. Rude of him. My mouth was otherwise occupied and somehow this man still managed to have me losing my fucking mind before he’d put a hand on me. Then he told me to take a…
The burger place never happened. By the time I left the salon, my nails were fresh and my toes were perfect. His favorite color. Of course. Wounded Boy has always had a particular weakness for my feet, and I knew exactly where his mind would go when he saw them. I didn’t need to tell…
The morning I stopped asking questions, the Wounded Boy started answering ones I hadn’t asked. This was particularly funny because the day before, he’d apparently fed some of my text messages into ChatGPT for analysis. The machine diagnosed me as fearful avoidant and highly sexual. I shrugged. Maybe. I don’t talk to virtually anyone in…
Monday morning, at 6:05, my lover broke up with me. By Tuesday evening he was standing at my door with flowers. So that went well. In fairness, it was a very mature breakup. Thoughtful. Self aware. He had decided that he caused me stress. That he’d affected my family. That things had been said that…
She used to tell me to know my place. That always confused me. Not because I didn’t know it. Because I did. I was the lover. Hard R. I had never asked him to be my man. I had never waited for him to choose me. I never wanted her title, her house, her marriage,…
I read your husband his File. All of it. I let him sit beside me and listen to himself become literature while he was still living it. The wounded boy. The man. The park. The house. The echoes. Everything I had seen. Everything I had catalogued. Everything I had finally turned back into words. When…
About a month into our affair, I saw him. Really saw him. We were in bed when the mask dropped. Just for a moment. There you are. That’s what I said. There you are. I recognized the monster. Maybe because I had one too. Monsters recognize each other. After that, I stopped pretending I didn’t…
My future husband would never. I don’t remember the first time I thought it. I remember how often I eventually did. Your husband would be talking. Explaining. Arguing. Defending. Sometimes doing something so absurd that I could feel the sentence forming before he finished. My future husband would never. At first, it was funny. Almost…
Your husband was always on his way somewhere. Toward divorce. Toward independence. Toward his own home. Toward me. He just needed time. There was always a reason for time. In the beginning, he told me he didn’t want to be married. He had been tricked into it. He was unhappy. He was going to leave.…
