The absence of a reason has been eating at me relentlessly.
Everything was great until I fucked up.
Having an affair only results when one or both partners don’t realize that the intense “butterflies in your stomach” feeling that they feel initially won’t last forever.
I thought I had finally found someone who had the potential to be something more than a hookup. That was naïve of me.
I’ve tried to rationalize what I’ve done by listing every grievance she’s ever caused me, but none of them warrant my actions.
When she sings our favorite song, the melody in her voice will remind you of me. This is how you will miss me.
I’m not mad at you anymore, the words I write give me freedom.
You send her more texts, trying to sound cool. But you are so drunk, you don’t realize those “few” texts were actually about 40. And you panic and try to fix the situation.
Everything was going good. Great, even. Felix’s fingers were clutching my hips, his lips gliding against my neck as tiny moans fluttered from my mouth. I was still throbbing from my second orgasm. This guy was a real keeper.