The past few months have been tumultuous with my ex as he attempted to regain my trust in an effort to be his again. His obsession, lies, gifts, secrets, arguments — it all came to a head the other night when I just began to believe him only to find his dating app, conversations and videos with other women.
The argument was different, marked with much needed finality and validating evidence. Where I used to feel sadness was replaced with a general desire to not be alone. To immediately make up for lost passion — or, at least a half decent romp before bed if that wasn’t asking for too much.
Fortunately, a friend of mine was up. The complete opposite of what I’d been used. I was met at the door by a man whose stature I clearly had forgotten. Towering over me, upon his embrace I was greeted with the warmth of whiskey on his breath, cigarette smoke intertwined with his cologne. I admired his latest woodwork as he remembered my love for Otis Redding. Looking at him, disheleved hair, scruff, bright blues tired but twinkling as we cozied up to one another, I wondered if his kindness would result in yet another man who is far too gentle in bed for my preference.