Same old song and dance

I hate men who sulk. Especially who sulk after the vile words leave their mouth. It’s my hate for him that holds us together.

Rich and cheap perfumes waft around. I push into the crowd and walk as fast as I can. I know he is not following.

I hate myself for turning and looking for him. Then searching.

I push and elbow trying to get out of the store. Reluctant panic. The reluctance is the crowd’s and the panic is mine alone.

I sit down on a newly vacated bench. The warmth of the seat is unsettling. Unknown shared intimacies.




He comes… picking at his teeth.

I wonder when I began hating him.

It was easy, his claustrophobic, probing questions and his stealing of an anger that should have been rightfully mine at most instances.

It’s easier if I call it love and men was her advice when I told her about it.