On our first date you said you adored me, like we were in some period drama instead of Nando’s. On date two, you brought a dozen red roses, and no one had done that for me before. So I’ll admit I was impressed, even before you declared your true, everlasting love on date three. I thought you might be The One, despite it being too fast (my friend Kate said). I’d all but moved my stuff in when you started pulling away, slowly at first. You stopped listening to what I said, or maybe you simply didn’t care anymore. And I didn’t understand your sudden coldness, so I just clung on closer. That was a mistake, because it seemed to annoy you even more. It all came to a head at your friend Huey’s party. You were all over that girl Maya, the Shakira lookalike. I had absolutely no chance of competing with her. Your face when I asked you to leave. Like you’d accidentally stepped in dog shit. What the hell happened? you asked. You used to be confident. And I couldn’t remember. The old me. Before you. Alone.
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