Apologetic Momentos

I’m sitting here holding their words. Story and story followed by fantasies, but not one of them has written my life in…

Funny, I don’t feel like I was a horrible human being. I’ve never heckled or harassed or given an unwanted pass. I’ve never used my authority, masculinity, power, or strength to belittle them, and forget about any violence or forced physicality. There’s been bad places, you know the kind that big men frequent, they always called me an ass for talking and listening, asking and being. I digress, obviously nothing is written happily of this by any of them. I have a wife of 26 years, she would probably write “your a good man”, and “love” and “sex” and “family” but certainly not of her fantasy. Oh and you probably noticed I ashamedly left out “husband” and “friend”. She and two others have been the great loves in my life. The kind that seem to string across anything the universe might bring. Tragically and horribly, I put them in exactly the wrong chronological order. I suffer from the ails of testosterone. It’s that chemical that makes us think women’s brains are focused on nothing but me. It also makes me feel like a rock. Then it fucks with my nerves, I shut down and become as woman useful as a 1ton block.

They will be reading this now and think, “he still doesn’t get it, this is about nothing but him”. Which brings me back to those pieces in my hand, their words, dreams, and fantasies.

It’s all there, like a memory of things I should have known better to have been.