and there were no nice men in montreal? i don’t know, probably…. i never even looked. how could i look away once i’d seen him. he and i are so evenly matched.. what makes you think i’d want just anyone? you don’t even know how intertwined we are… if i look back through the years, there he is. all of my most vivid memories from the past decade have his fingerprints all over them, if you really looked, you’d see. he’s in my throat, in the muscle of my jaw, along my spine, pressed into the skin of my inner thigh like a bruise. he’s in my eyes, even. you’d see him there, in the back of my mind, always present. not that you’d look that closely. not that you’d be able to recognize him, if you did. you don’t know him like i do. no one else would do — he’s it. yeah, he’s sort of an asshole, but he’s a good man. he has a good heart, i promise, you’ll find out in time. nice is nothing.
