Member-only story
Want to get over your perfect ex? Do this one easy thought exercise
Your relationship really wasn’t perfect. Really
I fell for the perfect man during the happiest days of my life. Or at least, that’s how I told the story, for a long time, until I realised that I’d never really understood the protagonists, the plot, or indeed, what the author had actually experienced in that chapter.
Life was in Technicolor, then. I made love to him by the shores of Cannes where the sky was cerulean and his mouth pressed against mine under hollow stars. Cygnus swung his wings across a delirious sky made ripe with red wine I could never afford and the deep, impossible blue of his eyes. He stripped my body to Chopin and held me fast as we slept through long days after longer nights. He devoured my pleasure as no other man had. He was alive, brilliant, intelligent, accomplished, extraordinary. I loved him. I loved him. I loved him. That was my euphoria, my mountain top, the moment nothing could ever rival. Drunk on love, I had found him. The man no other could ever claim me from, the man I wanted with a torturous lust I’d never felt before. With him, I would forever wander the earth…
