You told me about David, a boxer you had dated. He fucked like he fought—graceful, passionate, hard. You said his syllables were so long you thought you’d trip over them. I wondered how I compared to David. What made you leave him and was I making the same fatal mistakes?
“If I wanted David, I wouldn’t be here with you, Sammy,” you said. We had only been together a few short weeks, and you were testing out nicknames. I didn’t know what to do with Sarah. It was already so classic, so simple. I didn’t dare call you sweetheart. You weren’t sweet or sugarcoated.
That was the day I fell in trust with you.
