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I was completely, utterly, totally completely in love.
We met last Thursday, our eyes melted into each other’s souls before we spoke.
Together we were beyond sensual, beyond sexy, beyond anything I have experienced before.
There are no words to do our relationship justice.
I had fallen hard and fast, and it felt wonderful.
He was all about me, and I was all about us, and then he was too.
By Friday evening we were so in sync, we were finishing each other sentences.
I felt like I had been caught in a whirlwind, and I did not care.
We were nuts about each other, could not keep our hands off each other.
I could not wait to introduce him to my family and my friends
As he had become my world, and I had become his.
By Sunday, I knew him.
I didn’t just know him, I KNEW him - possibly better than I knew myself.
It felt like, in the space of four days, we’d been together for - oh - about seven years.
Itch itch itch.
His stories became boring. I knew every ending.
His jokes became tedious. I knew every punchline.
And his body - oh how I had feasted on that body - every single pore....
It had nothing more to give.
On Monday morning, I looked at him and he looked at me.
“Shall we...” I said, “Call it a day?” he said.
So we split the chocolate we’d bought on Saturday but were too lovesick to eat,
And we split the seedlings we’d bought to plant in the garden of our inevitable dream cottage...
And by Tuesday I was...
23 July 2018
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