‘but surely you’ve loved before right?’ he asked her. ‘surely some other
lucky lucky man, or woman for that, has been blessed with your undivided attention ?’ she stared outside the window for a moment, watched the leaves flutter by in the wind. ‘i don’t think you understand. i’ve had plenty of pretty boys to buy me pretty things and whisper pretty things into my ear as they push inside of me with no ounce of warmth whatsoever, driven entirely by lust. and to think that i thought i loved them makes heat rise to my cheeks because the way i feel when you look at me, whether it’s across the kitchen counter as we argue over penne or swirls for dinner or if it’s squinting through the sunrise that peeks through our cheap blinds every morning, makes me feel so much fuller
than the empty skeletons of those whose ghosts still lay on my mattress’