The Death of the Ex
On the surface I appeared calm, steady, normal. Beneath that I was waiting for a tiny reason to tear him a new *ssh0le. Late night make outs began to sour rather than stimulate. Love Doesn’t Just Die. We Kill It Most of the Time. I am not a COMPLETE psycho, but love on life support can make a person feel like one. I was young and in love, but from where I stood he was less and less interested in me. Disenchanted is the word I like to use. He would look at me with contempt, he seemed too jealous and suspicious of me. Me? Lil’ ol’ me with the bright smile and prudish upbringing. Me – who believed God would strike her down for having premarital sex and instead developed mad skills at a few Lewinsky-style relations. Me? The gal who wanted nothing but to spend all of her time with him? Me? The gal who wanted to marry him. Me? Suspicious of ME? Blind, loyal, devoted me? You don’t want to talk to me …