You will always be fond of me. I represent to you all the sins you have never had the courage to commit. Oscar Wilde.
She looked at him with an air of disdain and reminded him of what she represented. Everything he wasn’t.
They’d been in a relationship, and it was to a point where he knew it was at an end. She had made that clear. He irritated her, he had ceased to be any fun.
He no longer made her feel they were soaring like eagles but rather were stuck in the mud, stranded in life like a bunch of turkeys.
He felt her dislike of him, he knew at every opportunity she would decry him for what he had become.
Dull. Boring. A burden on her every day.
Where once he had thrilled her, made her gasp with his insights and his attention to her now there was nothing but a bland bad taste in her mouth when she thought of another day with him.
She wanted adventure, excitement and he failed to deliver. He was content to sit in front of the television most nights, watch whatever inanity was being screened and go to bed.
For some months they hadn’t touched one another, they avoided such potential moments, she’d stopped coming into the shower when he was there to scrub his back and chat with him about her day.
He didn’t seem interested she thought, she wondered when it was that she had become so boring to him.
Outside of home, she partook in action activities. Long and difficult weekend hikes through treacherous terrains while he tended to the back garden. She came home full of energy despite the nagging soreness of the hiking eager to share with him only to find he was asleep on the lounge or disinterested in anything she said.
So, desperate did she become she engaged a lover, bought him home one evening to see if he had any spark left inside.
She tried to encourage him to join in, a threesome might be fun she said, but he closed his eyes to her and left the room.
His behaviour added fuel to an already dying fire.
She took her lover to her bed, made sure he heard the enjoyment she had, packed her bags so that by morning all that remained was an unmade bed.
He took her photo and held it to his chest, she was a part of what made his heart beat, he regretted being such a disappointment.