She’s super pretty and all your friends ask about her. She’s the secret password to your current life: you’re unable to go anywhere or do anything without having to say her name at least once. They all want to know her. To be with her. To be in her. You’re the lucky guy who gets all of the above. You get to take her out, to see her in her tight little dresses and her cute white sneakers and know that it was at least a little bit for you, and she’d find another way to confirm your thoughts, that yes, it is all for you, as she tries to ram your dick into her while you miss the nonrefundable dinner reservations you prepaid $850 per person months ago.

Everybody thinks it’s so romantic. Everybody wishes they could be you two. But what they don’t know is you can’t get it up for her. That after trying so hard in the back of your shiny new car your phallus went flaccid, your dick nonchalantly telling your own girlfriend to fuck off and don’t even bother trying again. What choice did she have but to ditch you for the bar across the street of the restaurant you were supposed to go to for your six month anniversary. Six months! That was supposed to mean something, as if life hadn’t been a complete blur since the day your ex left you.

If anybody asked you how you and your current girlfriend got together you wouldn’t be able to tell them. You don’t remember. You don’t care to. In fact you find yourself zoning out anytime your girlfriend mentions it. You just don’t care. It all means nothing to you. There is only your ex or nothing.

How many years has it been? Maybe the length of time is what makes it sting so much harder. The fact that it’s been over half a decade and you still get excited when you see her name anywhere. You’re so pathetic. So weak, and it feels so good to admit it. To say in confidence, you’re a bitch for a woman who doesn’t give a shit about you, and certainly isn’t the woman you’re supposed to call your girlfriend.

What a fucking mess. You can’t even talk to anyone about how much you miss your ex. You have a girlfriend! You’re supposed to be all about her. Obsessed with her. In love with her. You’re a terrible actor. You avoid hanging out with her and your mutual friends because your eyes glaze over when she’s talking, and you hate answering any of her questions. You censor yourself because you don’t want anybody to know how truly pathetic you are. You don’t want anybody to be in on your little secret: that you’re madly in love with your ex. Your dick never had a problem staying hard for her. She knew exactly what she was doing to you and you couldn’t get enough of it. You savored every day with her and it wasn’t enough. Still isn’t. You spend every day replaying the memories, choosing to remain in a world where she still wants anything to do with you. You’ve become a pro at muting your background, preferring a few soundbytes of your past to the vast disappointments of reality. Who can blame you? When your here and now is the worst sex of your life: jacking off in the back of your car as you watch your girlfriend get picked up by her side piece. You know it’s him because you’ve seen him pick her up before. He’s not hot. He’s short and ugly. But the fact that she respects you so little… that’s hot.

You’re a fucking loser. Your current girlfriend is off fucking some ugly short guy because you have a broken penis. Your ex-girlfriend, the woman whom you really love, hasn’t made contact with you in years and doesn’t give a fuck if you live or die. You’re so unimportant even the woman you don’t want doesn’t want you. She just keeps using you for your money and she doesn’t give a shit because you both know it’s all your good for. Your ex won’t take it so your new girlfriend takes it off your hands. You used to send your ex money unannounced until she blocked you. Now you feel nothing as your new girlfriend swipes your card everywhere she goes. At least you don’t have to talk to her about anything.

It’s really not so bad. She wears these obscenely brilliant outfits she buys with your money. The same people who want her know you pay for her lifestyle and respect you for it. Or they think you’re a walking ATM cuckold bitch slut. One or the other. You don’t know. You don’t really care; you’re too busy thinking about your ex.