All the guys I date have a book. A book you’re supposed to read when you date them. A book that lets you see into their head. A book that moved them, shaped their thinking, grounds their intellectualism. It’s important to them that you read the book.
At least 10% of my reading material is the book.
He saw himself out which was eh until I remembered I’d get to wear my retainer that night!!
I wonder if it makes him sad that he never hears from me anymore.
I think about the exes I never hear from anymore. How it doesn’t make me sad that I never hear from them anymore. How I never hope they’ll text me, never feel happy when they do, maybe a tickled curiosity but not joy, when they do, how I don’t hope that I hear from them tomorrow, how tapping into that thought just makes me feel nothing at all.
He doesn’t know where I am right now. What I did today. How I’m feeling. And he’s okay with it.
We did everything together, watched everything together, but somehow both didn’t mention to each other that we’d each found the time to binge a series called Love. Over dinner, his little brother’s girlfriend, who worked in the entertainment industry, asked if he was excited for the second season premiere; I guess he’d discussed it with her previously… he couldn’t even say the word to me.
When I was 16, I found myself with boyfriend. He was perfect, and we dated for two years until I got curious about the world and other potential boys I hadn’t met yet in college.
Then, several years later, when I decided he was still perfect, I tried to be with him again, but he smelled weird to me. I asked him if he’d showered, put on deodorant, brushed his teeth, chewed gum, all affirmative, all moments before I met him, but he smelled too weird to me to kiss.
What a sad fucking day. Alone with a potential love of my life, too grossed out to kiss him ever again.
1. Sweatpants and a messy bun
2. A girlfriend who cooked
3. Large glasses