Victoria Young

Hint: Do not talk about your penis.

You’re a criminal math problem, an economic black hole, a pick pocket in a coal mine waiting for Christmas and I’m pretty sure that last Saturday night when I let you cum on my chest, the balance in my savings account dropped to zero.

But there was no fight to be had. You sat down on the bed, in the warm empty spot my body had just left behind. You sighed a few times, like you were trying to get a grip. You wanted to know why? Face in your hands, rubbing your eyes and you wanted to know why I was calling it quits.

I’m not yet certain I know what this is. And then you begin to fold it up, you make it into a paper airplane, and make airplane flying motions with it until you’re sure I recognize what it is.