I would bring her a box of chocolates, but she would only
hate me for it, just as she did that night in the bar when she humiliated me
for bringing her flowers and candy, when she never told me she hated those kinds
of gifts, and that somehow, I should have been aware of this fact, that night
when she seemed ready to turn me into a cuckhold, inviting me for this belated
birthday drink only to spend most of the night flirting with the bartender, so
intimate their connection, I suspected that night she would likely leave with
him, when I exercised my only option and left.
I still recall her screaming at me over the phone, as to why
I left her at the bar, as I took the long stroll up the hill for home, as if I had
spoiled one of her grand plans, even a box of chocolate could not make up for,
and every day since I have relived those moments in the bar and afterwards, revisiting
it all, examining into the most minute elements for something I might have
missed, might have done differently, something I could have changed that might
have brought about a different outcome, assuming finally I could have done nothing,
she would have gone off with the bartender, condemning me to watch.
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