Our time together was short, but very memorable. My first summer without my long term love and I fell into your bed for comfort. Well, your bed and your liquor cabinet. We spent the summer tangled in sheets surrounded by glass of toxic concoctions. You ever openly seeing another woman, she left claw marks on your back in all the places I had missed leaving mine.
You were a wanna-be dyke player and I was a dysfunctional disaster. And in the middle of the torrid affair, a very close family member of mine passed away after battling a terrible disease. I recall that day very clearly, leaving work in tears, showing up at your door, and asking you to fuck me until I forgot. That week was the softest, gentlest, more compassionate week I have ever had. I hide out in your home, alternating between crying and sleeping. You made sure I was eating and bathing. And at night, when I would pop awake with nightmares you would hold me and fuck me with all the love in the world you had for everyone but me.
And just when I thought we would move from “Renters” to “Owners” of each other, you ended it. Mid-fucking. I was on top of you and everything changed in a flash. It was over as soon as it started, and just as chaotic. And with a lot more alcohol.
I never got the chance to truly thank you and say good bye. Thank you for helping me grieve and good bye to all the emotional bag I left in your bed.