And I am sitting
at this exact place in the bar,
writing this,
where we sat down
together
2 days ago.

We did not fuck.
Yet again.

The first time we tried to fuck (was exactly 3 months ago, on March 7th, just realized it),
was preceded by hours of talking,
lots of beer,
lots of white expensive wine that you had,
and lots of cocaine.

After I ate your pussy for a while,
you went on to suck
my dick.

It did not work.

Not only did it not work,
it had fucking shrunk.

Fucking cocaine.

After that
I really wanted to see you again.
Badly.
Like really badly.
To prove I am a man.
I am not a little boy.

Oh,
but you were married,
and continuously away.

You got divorced,
one month after meeting me.

10 years of marriage.
I want to believe it was
because of me.

That's how fucked up
I am.

Well,
we finally met,
twice,
after the accident.

Two days ago was the last time,
exactly here,
in this bar,
at this table,
where these words are
being written now.

I hear girls' voices.
I do not look.
I do not care.

Come on.
I just pretend.
I do care.
I want them all to
suck my dick.

Will I meet you again?

I sent you pictures of my penis.
I fucked other girls in the meantime.
Still,
salvation is yet to come.
Will it come?
Your pussy is my priest.