You said: “I can’t date you anymore, you remind me of my mom.”
I said: “That’s a lot coming from someone who hates Freud.”
No, that’s a lie. I didn’t say that.
I said: “I’m sorry, I know I can be patronising.”
You said: “I want us to be on good terms.“
I left you on read
I am unsure what “on good terms” means.
Good terms means you staying over,
us joking about the patriarchy,
us joking about how hard it is to find the clitoris.
(Here, not there, there? Shit I lost it....How does it feel now?)
I asked my boyfriend, he said to always use two or three fingers,
so you have more chance
of finding the right spot.
I never told you that,
that would have been weird.
You told me you didn’t like sex.
I cried, “Then what did we do two weeks ago?”
In hindsight, it felt so good and so bad at the same time.
Good terms means crying together
in a way only people who are intimate can cry.
I was not in love with you.
It doesn’t matter, I suppose.
You really liked Mitski.
I always thought Mitski was just a St. Vincent rip off, but anyway.