You ditched me for breakfast with someone else but I choose to think it was about the post-breakfast time for writing. I will not torture myself with wondering who sits above me in the pecking order. We all pick favourites. You just happen to be mine. Without asking your permission I picked you. You have picked other girls. They are lucky. The stories that you send me are my consolation prize and I prize them more than breakfast and your sparkling conversation.
I need to talk about sex because that is what this blog is about but I can't think about sex. I can only think about love and care and intimacy. I am losing my edge. You have worn me blunt.
There is sex again - and for a while there was none. Today I chose an appropriately large and complicated tool hoping that the complexity of the thing would distract me from my routine of thinking about you. It didn't. But it didn't matter. The thing is done and I feel some small relief from it.
You have your date and I have things to organise anyway. You know that I will always step back. Perhaps too far back, but I will probably return a little at a time until we are in some kind of balance again.