Right in all the wrong ways.
I thought of him again last night. His image always comes to me when I’m alone, vulnerable. I remember the way we met, the way we lived. I was always so in awe of him, so breathlessly excited that he actually wanted me. I thought of the weight of his arm around my shoulders, the smell of tobacco, whisky and cheap aftershave. The bar he used to go to, that awful seedy place, all men except...Read On