She Might Be Pretty, But She’ll Never Make You Moan Like I Did

I didn’t expect things between us to ever end gently. We don’t do gentle. We’re loud and boisterous people, always clamoring for our moment in the spotlight. You’re the only man I’ve ever met who could hold his own against me. That’s probably why I liked you so much.

Alright, it’s why I like you so much.

My friends thought we were a ticking time bomb which, in many aspects, we were. Passion begets more passion. Kindling feeds the fire. But things can only get so wild, so big, until they collapse in on themselves. Until they finally explode.

You and I were not relationship goals. We weren’t the cute couple you slap a filter on. We argued in public. We fucked there, too.

The more riled up I got over something, the more you would too. This kind of unbridled heat translated well in the bedroom. You liked it rough, just like me.

You were full of jagged edges, just like me.

I heard you met a pretty girl two months after we parted ways. A friend saw you with her downtown, said she looked straight out of a J. Crew catalog. Went ahead and snagged yourself a Prom Queen, didn’t you?

Good for you. I’m sure she’ll look great in the Christmas card you send home.

I knew we didn’t have real potential, but it would be a lie to say I don’t miss you. And when I’m two shots deep at our favorite local dive bar, I consider texting you. I consider asking if you ever feel the urge to say my name when you’re inside her. I want to know if she tastes like me. Do you fuck her like me?

But I don’t. I don’t because no answer would suffice. It would be unfair to her, some pretty girl who probably doesn’t ever pick fights with you. I bet she’s got perfect teeth.

Mostly, I don’t say anything because I know you’ve still got the image of me. I’ve heard you, felt you, done things Miss J. Crew couldn’t believe.

You don’t forget about that easily.

You don’t ever really forget about a girl like me.