I didn’t care what she said. She was about to fuck me. At that moment in time she could have said she was a time-traveling sociopath here destroy mankind with her paralyzing vagina. It wouldn’t even slow me down. Although they did turn out to be the most important words I would hear in my lifetime.
I fell in love fast, hard. Too fast, in retrospect it was stupid. I did love her, but more than that, I longed for love. So I was in love first. Apparently, that was a mistake.
She fell in love too, ostensibly. At least, so she told me. On numerous occasions. Sometimes with her ankles by my ears, sometimes while we slept, sometimes while we strolled along a path. She said it a lot of times, and fuck me if I didn’t believe her.
So, long story short, one day she said she didn’t love me. She fell out of love? I didn’t even know that could happen, so it was a bit of a shock. This concept alone is enough to give me pause, but the fact that it now applies directly to me rocks me, leaves me literally reeling. Describing the feeling would require the capabilities of a mathematical genius. Stephen Hawking could do it. I can’t.
I couldn’t understand it, but it sure as hell hurt.