I love him, but I’m not going to tell him, not yet anyway. I don’t believe he loves me back, but we’re getting there. And I don’t care. It’s enough when he touches me, wraps his arms around me, fucks me. When he looks at me with his gray eyes, a wave of bliss surges over me, and he’s given me orgasms that make my toes tingle. Sometimes you don’t have to use words to voice every little thing. I can tell that he cares about me, too; I’m not going to scare him off by insisting. It’d be too pushy to tell him that I love him now. That sort of statement demands a reaction, and I don’t want a reaction, I just want him as he is, right now. Everything is empty and pointless compared with him. I feel like I could leave my self behind just to love this man.

The Suburbs

The Suburbs

We went to dinner at my parents’ house. I was so proud to introduce them to the mysterious man I’ve been spending all my time with. They’d even baked vegetarian lasagna for us. But I was caught off guard by how small and strange he acted in front of my parents. He diverted his gaze, looking down at his shoes when he shook their hands, and the whole time, he never once looked them in the eyes. My sister gaped at him in astonishment when he took a book out in the middle of dinner. It was very strange. But as soon as he picked up on it, he put the book down. My mom and dad were sociable and tried to engage with him, asking him about his studies at university, his family, and things like that, but he responded by staring at his plate and mumbling inaudibly. I still haven’t mentioned his kids to them.

Privilege

Privilege