We lie wrapped around each other in the dark bedroom, hearts as intertwined as legs. “I like you,” I say gently, suddenly overwhelmed with how much I do, with how her presence lights my life, with how I’m happy. The post-sex sheen of sweat on her forehead glistens as she smiles in response. She whispers back: “I really like you”, moving her head to make eye contact for extra emphasis. I stroke her hair. We burrow ever deeper into each other.
Two weeks later I’m dumped and it’s as if it all never happened.
I feel stupid, discarded. I feel as though there’s a hole in my stomach, and sometimes I’m so convinced there is that I have to grope around just to check. I wish she’d change her mind.
