I was watching tv and thinking about G. Missing his stupid face, remembering how his shaved head felt in my hand, laughing at his stupid antics.

Remembering how my hands felt in his, kneading, looking up into his face and crying, and wondering how many women he'd held like this, seen like this.

Asking him when he'd fucking learn. Hearing his frustration at hearing that line again.

Stupid G.

~

Out bowling with friends. Kelly came too, like a trooper.

In the restaurant in the casino, after bowling, watching the sports channel on mute.

Some commercial, or something, for a calender of naked athletes. Interviews with people, then flashes of the photos and the photoshoots.

Seeing big black hands, muscled brown shoulders, all reminds me of G and I miss him with a ache so hard it hurts.

~

It's midnight. We're wrapped in our coats and bundled against the thin March wind, heading toward the assortment of cars.

My phone vibrates in my pocket. I only know one person who would dare phone this late.

It's G.

Why does he always phone me when I'm thinking hard about him?

I laugh about it with my friends, but secretly, I kind of want to answer.

He doesn't leave a message.

~

I miss his stupid face. Is this my big, unrequited romance?

Probably.

But I can't give in and I can't waver.

I laid down the rules, and I cannot break them.

~

I miss the feel of his hands.

.

Rosie.

Before&After