I looked at what used to be my girlfriend, or rather what remained of her. I have always had a temper on me, that’s for sure, but I never really took the time to think about the extent at which it could take me. I had turned my girlfriend into a corpse, what a shame! Before you get all judgy and what not, let me take you through my mental model and you will soon understand that there is no other way this could have ended.
Now, we all know that our friends and family talk about us behind our backs, what we don’t know is just how far they are willing to go. But there are simpler ways of at least getting a faint picture of how bad it really is. My best trick is to think about the nastiest thing that they can talk about me, and then I multiply it by a hundred and that way I am usually on the safe side. A friend of mine told me that you can achieve the same result by observing how intense they talk about another person and multiply it by ten.
Anyways, I have insecurities, I mean who doesn’t? I don’t love so often, more like I never find someone who gives me a chance to love me so often, so when I finally do, I love with all my being, and then some. That’s what I did to my dear Jolene, or should I say ‘the late’? There was nothing I couldn’t do for her, talk about love gestures left, right and center, although that woman never really let me in on what her love language was. What I hated the most was that she kept me guessing, all the way to the last minute. I had always said that I wanted the love that burns fast, the love that lights up like lightning; give me that love and keep the long boring ones. Well, I got it, and then it disappeared right where it came from. You see, I have dated Jolene for only a month, but it is a love worth a million years.
Within that one month, we have gone for nineteen dates, we have slept together thirty seven times, I have written twenty love letters to her, despite the fact that we chat on the phone pretty much all the time, and we are just four minutes apart. We have also fought twenty two times, and every time we fought we ended up having the most sensual sex, each one way better than the last one. I remember telling her in one of my letters, ‘Pickle, the sex was heavenly; there is no hotter foreplay than a fight.’ At the time, we loved it, because slowly by slowly, you get used to the chaos. Chaos is good, because without chaos there can’t be a cosmos. For us, without chaos, there was no love. I know some of you will classify this as a toxic relationship, but how wrong you are!
I like to label our love as true love. A love that is free, a love that is honest, with the perfect balance of good and bad, but occasionally the bad overpowers the good and that is when the love is at its best. It is a love that teaches the lovers more about themselves in one month than worshipping and meditating on the Himalayas ever could in two millennia.
Let me not bore you with the details. So, one morning, after our routine morning walk, I took Jolene’s phone, as was the norm, to ‘sanitize’ it. I have already said I am an insecure guy, so don’t crucify me. Most of the time, there is usually nothing but it never hurts to be thorough. Turns out there was a lot of things, she was just too good at keeping them hidden, and that day, my friends, was my lucky day, but not so lucky for my Pickle.
There was an app called ‘Steps Tracker’, and it felt absurd because we never used her phone to track our steps. It had been there ever since but I just never thought to look at it because every time I was with her phone, she was walking around with that hot body of hers and I had to abort the mission halfway. But not today. I thought. I opened the app and there it was. It was some form of a group chat of her friends and herself. I didn’t mind that, but what I did mind were the filthy things that she was talking about me in that group. I don’t have the biggest member on the planet, but I don’t believe size matters when technique is everything.
My God! It read like those dirty journals that you see in films and people claim that it belonged to a pirate from the 13th century. I experienced thirty six emotions in those three seconds, the phone dropped on the floor, and the sound of the ordeal brought my beautiful Pickle running towards me, her tits bouncing like a baby boy. For a minute there, I almost abandoned my mission just to devour this sexy woman forever, but like I said I have a temper. I still don’t know what emotions I embodied because I was both horny and furious; the best combo for serial killers. I ripped my Pickle’s brown eyes out with one hand and she hit the kitchen counter, and then she fell on the floor, and that was it. She laid there, dead.
I am a man of 42, and I have been looking for love ever since I was 20, but I suddenly find it at 42 and I am grateful. It was more than what I had asked for, and I say this in a good way. Just one month ago, I was a pathetic drunk, the most popular one at that because I forgot to mention that I am moderately rich. Like in the Bible, I like to see my life before I met Jolene as ‘dark, dull, and void’, and my spirit was wandering on that void without any satisfaction; just suffering and turmoil. Then the chaos happened when Jolene walked into my life dramatically and the universe was created, but then my ever-destructing spirit ended it again by killing my muse, my greatest love, scratch that, my only love.
The words that Hemingway wrote in his letter to Mary Welsh, his Pickle, ‘…and know I’m not impatient. I’m just desperate.’ kept ringing in my head, and I knew that there is nothing left for me on this filthy planet without my Pickle. I have therefore decided that it is better I leave soon so that I can accompany my love to our happily ever after. Before I do so, let me warn you, you lover boys like me, never ever go through the group chat of your Pickle with her friends. It certainly won’t end well for you.
You see, my Pickle and I, we’ve hurt our love as much as our love has hurt us.
Until then, cheers.
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