the first said he wasn't ready. stabbing me with such exquisite pain, it's waves rushing through the sensual borders of my being. reduced me to questionable worthlessness. summed me up with a phrase - i didn't even deserve a sentence.
the second i hurt. no excuses. except for not believing in a subjective emotion. he was a breath of fresh air. perhaps my system had already grown accustomed to the pollutions of man. move on, i said. he had other ideas.
the third. played a game. he enjoyed masochistically. allowed it to wash over him. apparently he hurts too. or something to that effect.
no more.
here's to crap.
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