And (as contrary to previous posts as it is)
for the first time in a while (a bit, perhaps?)
I miss him. I realize how much i loved him and i miss that.
And the sad part is... I think most about his body. The way it moved. the way it looked. how undressed and golden we were at one point. Plain faced: I found him utterly breathtakingly beautiful. And not in the sense to demean his masculinity (cause apparently i do that often to boys around me.) But because he was. and because i loved him. I know there were bad times. But more often than that were those heart swelling good ones. Where it didn't hurt. When looking at it all didn't hurt.
Times when i wasn't ashamed or embaressed. times when i could feel. oh feel.
But it was so easy to be angry while he was so hairy. So dirty. So equally cold.
I suppose there's a lot to be said for comfort and sex.
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