• Pretty Again

    by  • November 27, 2011 • * Safe for Work *, To You • 0 Comments

    I remember when we first started dating.

    I told you a story about my past relationship and sat in the back of the car because I couldn’t look you in the eye. The guy from the past had berated me, never called me pretty, and I’d dealt with it for a year and a half. It was what I needed at the time (although it went on much too long), I’d told you, and yet you couldn’t imagine how anyone could need that. You didn’t understand how a girl like me could be in a relationship like that. You were mad at him for me, because I was mad at myself.

    We used to cuddle and you’d tell me I was perfect. I’d tell you that no one is perfect and not to hold me to that standard, so instead you started to tell me I was perfect for you. I felt the same way. You used to just kiss my hand and my arm and my cheek and forehead. Anywhere at any time. We’d hold hands, you’d tell me I was pretty, you’d text me “good morning beautiful”. I loved being your girl. I loved being treated that way by someone I connected with on so many levels. We were friends and lovers.

    I wish that was still us. Now you don’t ask me to be there for you. You don’t ask to see me the way I wish you would. I feel like one of your friends who you text on the weekends to hang out with. We kiss goodbye, and we kiss when we’re being intimate. There is no affection anymore. You don’t hold my hand, my waist, put your arm around my shoulders.

    You haven’t called me pretty in over four months.

    I compliment you, I tell you I miss you, I text you “good morning handsome <3”. I get nothing in return anymore. I wonder if the bro-ishness of our relationship, something that was always a quirk that I loved about us, has taken over and pushed out the affection. We always joked and called each other dude or bro. But when I’m naked in bed with you lying in the afterglow, I want to be called beautiful sometimes. I want to be told I’m pretty for you again.

    I still want to be more than friends. I don’t know if you realize you’re doing this or not. I don’t know what you’ll say if I bring this up. I don’t know if you know how much this hurts me.

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