Please Be My Last Love

Married couple on beach
Jeremy Wong

Please be my last love, for I do not want to spend mornings with anyone else. No one else will appreciate my need to wake up at seven in the morning to catch the news. No one will make my coffee as perfectly as you do. No one will make my eggs soft boiled, not hard. Anyone, but you, would roll over in bed and urge me to whisk away my god-awful morning breath.

Please be my last love, for I do not want to spend afternoons with anyone else. No one else will understand my busy schedule. No one else will comprehend my need to let the birds and squirrels talk to me. No one else will want to express me how their day was in such detail, as if I were reading a piece of flash fiction. Anyone, but you, would tell me “I will see you when I see you” and make sure to fill their tummy up before mine.

Please be my last love, for I do not want to spend nights with anyone else. No one else will indulge my need to sleep with a stuffed animal. No one else will accept my body for the way it is, all scars and blacked marks. No one else will appreciate me getting up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom. No one else will delicately care for my skin as you have. No one else will make-shift me a bed on the floor because I prefer the cold and dense wood on my bones. Anyone, but you, would tell me to skinny up and go home if I sleep better there.

Please be my last love, for I do not want to date anyone else. No one else will understand my need for artisanal coffee and donuts. No one else will appreciate my urge to dance in public to avoid my anxiety. Anyone, but you, will be absolutely conditional and cautious when approaching me.

No one will love you the way I did. No one will get you fat with your favorite sweets yet slim you down at night the way I did. No one will accept your past or your issues the way I did. No one will greet your family daily without ever meeting them. No one will be intrigued by your little obsessions. Anyone, but me, would leave in a heartbeat, but my heartbeat would skip in sight of you.

No one’s hand will fit quite like yours. No one makes me deliciously intimidated. No one looks at me the way you do.

Please be my last love, for I cannot endure anymore. TC mark

One story, told five ways…

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