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I neither require the flattery nor deserve the ghosting.

I think about how long I’ve been ready to find the beauty in another human being, to caress the scars of someone as flawed as me and to feel that person reciprocate.

That night I hadn’t been looking for romance, but my two-time lover embedded himself in my consciousness when he told me I was the girl of his dreams, and I can’t help but think how cruel that was, considering how it all turned out.

Not too long after, a man I slept with told me I was beautiful while we were walking to my apartment in the middle of the night.

He caressed the back of my hand with his thumb and smiled, but it meant nothing — under the orange glow of streetlights, I knew, even broken glass looks stunning.“I feel so lucky right now,” he said. ”“Nothing,” I said, draping my leg over both of his. “But I don’t want a guy to be nice to me just because he feels obligated to, you know?

I always imagined the quintessential girl of men’s dreams to be taller than me, thinner, more poised and blond. “Of course not.”Finally, he answered: “Not really, no. I wondered if he was lying to make me feel better or to ensure more sex later.

Last modified 27-Oct-2019 06:53