He can charm cashiers to give him a discount. Other girls always wondered why he wasted his time with me. My father's ego was so thoroughly stroked that he was being called son the first meeting. My mother couldn't put her finger on her mistrust but warned me to guard my heart. The first time he sweet talked someone only to tear them apart behind their back my sailor mouth was shocked to silence. He could argue for hours on history, his beliefs, conspiracy theories, wars and foreign countries. He loathed when I agreed just to drop the subject. He hated it when I laughed after anything he said in public; he didn't tolerate being undermined. Every guy wanted me and every time I smiled at a stranger I was a flirt. His laugh was contagious, mostly by sheer volume and length, when something was really funny tears poured when he was faking it was all nasal snicker. When people hear his voice for the first time they are always surprised by its depth, authority. He lied and found me lacking for being willing to believe. The only foreplay he needed was a burning gaze, I felt so privileged to share his bed. The intensity was terrifying for one so meek, the eyes oh yes the eyes, brown with a gold judging color perfectly blended always watching always. Those eyes could make me feel an inch tall or like the most valued creature in the world. He loved to make women smile and would come to me with stories of their wanting him like we were supposed to mock their attempts together. He was the first I ever allowed to slap my ass in public. The first to sweep me off my feet like every movie, novel and fairy tale we were ever brainwashed with. He made me think about words like soulmate, husband, forever. I played wife while he worked, so happy to be trusted alone in his home, to be able to make him smile with every domestic chore. He refused to text or call, but took each opportunity I missed to ring as a grave injury. He said girls like me no longer exist. Why did I act like such a child? Love was dead, didnt I realise? Much better, an open friendship that had possibilities to progress, I refuse he hates my sensibility, but admits to dating. He kisses any piece of skin that peeped at him. He whispered foreign languages while taking full possession of my heart. His self doubt must be an act with those looks, but his eyes turn tortured and his brow creased. Trust me, love me, I want to show him his worth yet he makes me question my own. I'll sing his praises as he pushes away.
