I didn’t want to talk to you about it because, really, what right did I have? I had no basis to ask you for anything other than a good, worthwhile f**k. So many times I wondered if you even felt for me a quarter of what I felt for you, or if I just imagined the affection in your touch? I partly hoped that was the case to make it easier, to make it all disappear. But then I’d miss it—all of my logical fabrications.
For a while I was fine being stuck in a cycle of anticipation, happy to never put a conclusion to my desires. But theories, proof, arguments, logic—if I was going to quit you I needed to know exactly what I was saying yes, no, in time, I-don’t-know or maybe to. I needed to put the proverbial cards on the table, except I wasn’t in the mood for a gamble. I had no skill to choose t
