When I got home that night as my wife served dinner, I held her hand and said, I’ve got something to tell you. She sat down and ate quietly. Again I observed the hurt in her eyes.
Suddenly I didn’t know how to open my mouth. But I had to let her know what I was thinking. I want a divorce. I…
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He loved my intelligence and my humor and my body, in that order. I’m not sure when I stopped trying to impress him with my sexual skills. Maybe when I discovered he had skills of his own, or maybe the first time he said, “Look at me,” when we were having sex, or maybe when I realized how much I trusted him.
Fuck you and your apathy,
pretending you don’t see me and averting my gaze.
Fuck your noncommittal lifestyle,
Fuck you and your lunar eyes,
how your lips curl into a smug little smile
when I whisper naughty things into your ear at crowded parties.