At Least There Is Honesty

They fell to the floor, a tangle of naked limbs that made it impossible to determine the owner. They were laughing freely, each trying to find an opening they could wiggle their fingers in and tickle lightly. Out of breath and panting, she conceded and laid her head on his chest. As he became still and stroked her shoulder lazily, she realized what she wanted. It was this: she wanted every moment to be like this one, entwined while free, sweaty while still clean, loved and held by a man who knew her inside and out.

She sighed. As if he was reading her mind, he said “You deserve that polarity. You deserve someone who speaks to the woman in you, who allows you to be the kind and gentle person you are, while he protects you and loves you. You deserve all of that and more. You are amazing, in every way, and I hope that one day you will realize what you deserve.”

A few weeks later, in the middle of a disagreement, she brought up those words and how much they meant to her, how much hearing that meant from a man who was everything she ever wanted.

His reply?

“I didn’t mean me.”

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