One minute it was there: real, wonderful, delicious in its lingering scent. Like a garden around the corner in full bloom.
And then, as if swept away on a breeze, it was long past me and the space between us convinced him he was wrong: it was nothing to pursue or look forward to with me.
He had decided he would cancel our date tonight and any further engagements.
The Magical Sub was not so magical after all.
And I was right.
I choked on tears in the car when I got the first warning text at 12:30 expressing his reservations. I was headed to the grocery store to buy supplies. I sat in the parking lot instead and replied, calmly and warmly. Four hours later he finally confirmed he’d had a change of heart.
No matter, really.
I’d driven straight home and crawled under my covers in my workout clothes and cried off and on into my pink velvet pillow shams for the rest of the afternoon.
The house was a mess and there was no food. I’d gone to no trouble. Fuck him. Fuck it.
I didn’t respond to his last text apologizing and saying he felt like an asshole. Well, yeah. You should. Not going to argue with you; I’m going to walk away with my head held high, tyvm.
Prior to this afternoon he’d excitedly asked me about my rope skills and sent drooling emojis about seeing me again. There were lots of warm smiles and exclamations from him.
I guess the bright cold winter air sobered him up.
I can’t quite understand why I even keep trying, to be honest. Such a waste of my everything.
My last Sinful Sunday of the year. Click below for everyone else!