I miss

I have been...

dating.

In this space, I should be writing about the women I've been dating. I should be telling you all about the things you assume I've been doing with them (and which, in a very very few cases, I actually have been doing).

Well, I've spent my whole fucking life confounding the expectations of other humans, and most of you are now part of that collection.

I miss.

I miss Melody. I miss her in those ways that only come out late at night and have nothing whatever to do with sex. I just... miss her.

I miss knowing that on Sunday mornings, she would be up earlier than me, making some sort of egg product that I would eventually remember to soak out of her non-nonstick pans.

I miss the way she used to look at herself in the mirror in the bedroom even though she was just wearing boring khaki pants to work... because it was the same look she gave herself when she was wearing a velvet short skirt and heels and stockings. And she didn't think I paid attention.

I miss the light snore she had when she fell asleep on her couch when she and I were watching televised sports. Or PBS.

I miss the way her hair smelled after a shower.

I miss...

Melody, are you reading this?