It never did.
It was the night of the twenty-fourth; I was alone in my house and you were out there hanging out with a friend (I don't know why; I never bothered to answer) but you sent me a text message. A message followed by a call. I don't know why it came into your mind; you're probably down or something. There must be something wrong.
Thirty minutes.
You were to arrive in my house in thirty minutes.Pretty fast, I thought, but I could have still taken a shower. And I did. I wasn't wearing anything anyway (I live alone so I don't bother wearing anything inside the house) so I walked to the bathroom. I have to do the ritual of jacking off, say, to our quickies or to our nights together; I have just gotten used to it, not particularly since you came.
Then I remembered.
Some three months ago you took me walking in the riverside at two in the morning. It was supposedly your usual randomness, but it's not. You woke me up late at night with a call and I immediately responded. We were walking; it was just us there walking, silently, very silently.
You hugged me.
It was the tightest you could have ever given without inducing pain. I got a hard-on, for, you know, the usual reasons. Your right hand traveled down into my pants and your left hand grabbed my face (or was it my right hand grabbing your face?) and kissed me. It was long, hot, perhaps the best I could have ever had. You were moving me back and forth and we were kissing each other, perhaps, so passionately.
But then it was your way of breaking up.
Some three months ago you simply blurted out that you can't do this anymore, that you want to, that you no longer want me; you know, the usuals. It was like reading a book aloud or telling a friend how awful someone's clothing is. Nevertheless it was real, very real indeed.
Your first message.
It took some three months for it to happen. It took some three months, and you even have to be a little sober, for you to have the urge to finally reconnect with me. (But I still wonder why I never had the courage to do so, even.) But It's not like I care either. I have managed well enough to forget you, to not see you again.
I came.
I turned the shower knob to let the long and cold sprinkles of water pass on me. Then I thought about it. I thought about what you told me at around two in the morning some three months ago. You can't love me anymore, but things will never be the same. The words were ice cold. They just slip into me like water droplets.
I turned off the knob and reached for the bath towel. I dried myself and went out of the bathroom. I realized that I still have the boner, and when I looked up, you were already standing there.
Yes. It will never be the same again.
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