One day, you’ll fall in love. Hard. Like really hard. Like hit-your-head-on-the-ground-on-the-way-down hard. And you’ll lie there, and you’ll lie to yourself.
It’ll start with pretending you didn’t see the heels that were two sizes too big to be yours at his door. Then your gaze will grow hazy when you see someone else’s bra on his bedroom floor.
You’ll forget the time you did laundry and found women’s underwear. You’ll ask him, “Whose are these?” He’ll say, “They’re yours, dear. I swear.”
But on another day, you forget to forget.
“Who’s the other woman?” you ask.
“You, I regret.”