Why I Broke Up with You and You and You….
by Bryan R. Monte

You wanted to add a third on our fourth date.
You called out someone else’s name during sex…and while you slept.
You only called when you’d gone through everyone else in your book.
You had a syringe in your cupboard drawer and weren’t a diabetic.
You didn’t ask if you could smoke in my bed.
You shouted: “We’re all antibody positive!”
You had sex—by accident—with three men in one afternoon.
You never wanted to get married or wear a ring.
You wouldn’t wear a condom because it killed the feeling.
You thought sex in the park was OK as long as I didn’t know.
You hooked a man on the beach on holiday, but didn’t let him go.
You left love letters on your nightstand—from another beau.
You said you could never fall in love with a renter.
You said you wouldn’t date a man clothed by Marks & Spencer.
You said we should “start seeing other men” after I spent a week moving you in.
You demanded I quit my second job so we could stay out late Saturday evenings.
You said I talked too much.
You said I asked too many questions.
You were frightened by the wall of books as you walked into my flat.
You only wanted sex when I had to go to class.
You said you loved me, but wouldn’t move with me back East when I won the scholarship.
You said you loved me, but wouldn’t move with me out West when I graduated.
(Even though both your employers had offices in both places).
You didn’t take me home for Thanksgiving, Christmas or New Year’s.
You left me at home on Thanksgiving, Christmas or New Year’s.
You said if I left you, I’d never find anyone who loved me as much.
But honey, none of you had the right touch.