I remember looking at my ex, eating ribs with his hands, and thinking about how hot he was. The way his collarbones flex when he swallows. The skin at the base of his neck, like porcelain, or more accurately, the surface of a perfectly still puddle of milk. Opaque, but yet the eye can see the depth. Then he swallows, then it moves. So beautiful, skin like a living cotton sheet. I love sleeping there. The boy is the same, at that one spot… and I took the whole man because of that. Beyond that, they are not the same at all. And beyond that, let’s be honest, I don’t really like either of them.
I know how my ex got to be the way he is, but I have never understood why he would choose to be that way to me. I thought we were supposed to be better than that to each other. His life was not good, I know. Neither was mine, and he knows that too. So why, rather than be each other’s safe haven, does he just derive such joy and false feelings of superiority because he thinks he knows where my sore points are and he’s finally found a foe he can truly defeat. So thoroughly exploitative, I would never in a million years do that to anyone, anyone who would ever be so good to me as to even say they love me, and try to make it look like they did. I would never do that to him.