Friday night at the pub. Two lonely, messed-up people. Not a pretty story.

10 Feb 1995. I wasn’t in a good place then.

work in progress

She’s been single for almost four months now. She’d forgotten how it can feel – or maybe it didn’t feel like this last time she was single? No, it didn’t feel like this. She was young then, and… what was it? a carefree feeling? a confidence that she could be loved and desired and valued? a self assurance that came from… well, from people wanting her. She had always had people wanting her, she had always known that she could have pretty much any guy if she just showed an interest, a willingness. Her body was desirable, back then.

Nine years later, who is she? what is her worth in the singles market? looking in the mirror she sees a tummy that hadn’t been there before, and she’s not so sure of herself.

She’s had nine years of being cooked for and fed and made fat by the person who…

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