Dating you was guilty.
Dating you was marvellous.
Dating you was bliss.
I could never have for the life of me think I would have done what I had done.
But given the chance to turn time... I would still do it again.
Seeing how I hate you so.
Seeing how we saw each other three times more.
Sex: six times in total.
Sweet to one another like snuggly puppies.
Awful that I have to be so mean to you. Knowing that you do not care, have not changed, would not retaliate.
Cowardly, insecure, and needy.
Narcissist, psychopathic, deceitful.
Why? I beg you, why?
Somewhere in that gentle brushing of my back and post-coital night-long embrace, I thought you'd have a soul. Not just for yourself but a conscience for others.
The soft hugs and hug thrusts implied you truly love.
Not me but someone other than yourself, at least.
A good thing was ruined--by your nature--of dishonesty and cock.
I so very much want to see how you will live on. Leading on, beginning, nodding, bowing, lying, lying, lying...
My baby boot,
You will always answer the call.
Being together is incredulously silly.
Sillily fulfilling. Sillily romantic. Sillily rewarding.
For a moment. A very, very short moment.
We can't be but we are.
Not more anymore.
That is good enough.
This is good enough.
P.S. Maybe I still love you. Trash. I always hoard them for awhile.