Sometimes when I am feeling very low on myself, I linger in the memory of that last night with G.

Laying in his breath, crushed into his bed, into the center of his smell.

After that weekend, I found the pants I had worn to bed.

I buried my face in them, and breathed him in.

I still hear his voice, drilling into my brain:

"You are exquisite."

It's like a hug that's too tight, and hurts, even while it comforts.

I've managed to shake all my exes. More or less.

Except him.

Am I clinging to him to have an excuse not to try again?

Maybe.

Probably.

.

Rosie.

Before&After