talk to me

I've always expected my exes to be story tellers. nights sometimes we would lie shoulder to shoulder on the bed and I would whisper, "tell me a story."
one long distance ex recounted the tale of the four kingdoms to me, over the course of months. when I couldn't sleep or found myself in the throes of anxiety, his quiet voice would soothe me. ex-otter talked like a fable. his hands would weave the images, his voice never betraying emotion. it was always just below the surface, never quite able to breathe.
so many exes fancied themselves writers. not von though. she never let me read what she wrote. I never cracked that notebook open. but she read my secrets, oh yes, and I didn't find out until things were almost over.
I love stories. I love the fantasy. I like to imagine a world where plans carry through. you can skip to the end and it doesn't change when you go back to the beginning. none of the details shift in memory, they're all right in front of you. solid.
and people fall in love and stay in love. love conquers everything.

fuck.

this isn't at all where I meant to go.