The last one I tried to love was a mess of a man. As tall as he was handsome and for all his many flaws he sure was handsome. A little less so when he spoke but I didn't mind. He had a gentle heart and firm grasp. There was something unmistakably broken about him that I want to cradle and protect. As if embracing his pain could erase my own.
Except his pain turned to anger. His kind eyes grew jealous. And his sweet smile turned possessive. Suddenly every man I spoke to I had also slept with. Every "hello" made him suspicious. Every day became a battle fueled by alcohol and accusations. It was as though I could do nothing right. As if my words had taken on new meanings rendering them meaningless. Until finally I got tired of beating a dead horse. So I shot it.