Route

I blamed you for everything. My bad mood. My limp dick. My disappointment in the food, the scene, the view. My anger landed on your face. Again and again. I looked away. Over your shoulder. Over my shoulder. Down at my lap.

You did the same. Kept my head swiveling on my shoulders. I tried to keep up with your moods. Your anger. Your disappointment. Disillusionment. Despair. You were my first disaster. Cordoned off. Explosives set. Wired to go at any moment. My muscles too tight. A desperate boxer struggling to stay on my feet. No longer loose. Lost. Waiting for the punch that will drop me to my knees. My limbs, bricks, everything implodes. Leveled.

This started before either of us can remember. This started before we met. Between being a child and being grown, it takes seed. The dirty break up. The shameful mistakes. The root. The route.

Blame me. I’m ready to take it. That long fall. Such form. Such grace.

I took you into Forever 21. You tried on gold lamé and burgundy fake fur and pushed my fingers inside you in the dressing room. I turned your face against the mirror. Everything was fun until it soured.

The park bench in the cold with the broken slat that ripped through your stockings and into your knee. We laughed about the blood. I left my cock sticking out of my pants when we ran to the car.

Your friends couch. Realizing too late, with the keys slipped through the mailslot, that the dirty condom wasn’t in my pocket. Not knowing where we’d left it or when it would surface.

You liked to suck me off when I was late getting to work or meeting someone. I had to run out the door confused and dizzy from getting off.

I never thought we would last. I never thought I loved you. It never occurred to me what you wanted. I don’t think you cared much either way. You always seemed ready to walk out the door and never see me again. You never left anything important behind. Nothing I would have to return.

I don’t remember anything about the last time. The end wasn’t anything that stuck with me. It was the heady beginning and the slow burn that comes back to me. I still jerk off remembering the way you looked when you slipped out of your skirt. I can feel your tongue in my ear. The way I loved that and hated it at the same time.

I don’t miss you as much as I miss who I was to you then. The role I played. When you were gone, you were long gone. I can’t imagine you ever looked back. I thought you were my toy but I know better now. You knew all along. You had the map. You saw where we were headed and how little I knew. You were watching as I disappeared from the start.

If I saw you now, my hands would be on my belt before I recognized your face. The thin, pink scar on the back of my hand would blush red. I’d stand right there and wait.