Key, from the inside

I'm not a big fan of universal honesty. I find that forming something beautiful out of something really ugly without telling lies is a wonderful accomplishment and a brave challenge to take on. Bows are my friends, my soldiers are the flowers of speech, my confidant is the Present Simple tense.

In a relationship a girl's best friends are distance and lack of time. If they aren't available, secrets will also do the trick. Secrets, of which - to be completely honest - there aren't many. Therefore we create secrets by adding perfume scent, missed calls and "we can explain" to the witch's brew. Just for you.

He loved touching objects. Objects blended with his soft hands just like cats in heat do with any person's hand. His spatial coordination wasn't what you would call confident, yet it was usually me who was asking him where my keys were. He stuck his index finger into the keyring, tilted his hip towards the right a little, like primadonnas do before the ovation:
- I can see you're looking for these. Am I right? - then he raised his voice, adding a little arrogance to it -, am I right?

- I can see you should go stick something up your ass.

How dare he annoy me early in the morning?!

- Aren't you looking for these?

I was madly in love with this flippant arrogance. I liked that he thought I would take a lot of shit from him.

And he was right. I did take a lot of shit from him without saying a word.

He demanded we watch football on TV.

- Isn't it OK if I just turn on the radio? Then I could watch TV.
- No, I want to watch TV.

So I stepped to the television and turned on the radio right next to it. No difference between the two.

- No, no, no. Please. I'm not stupid. And since you acted like you thought I was stupid, make me some garlic soup.

Without thyme. He like it without thyme. But thyme is the soul of garlic soup. OK, so you want football on my TV? You can screw your soup without thyme. I carefully opened the cupboard and I barely sprinkled some thyme in the soup.

- What are you doing? - he called out from the living room.

- I can explain.

I started the soup again, from scratch.

I hated this special talent of his, how he could feel everything. I closed the window, he told me the curtain was caught in it. I put on different socks in the morning, he handed me the right ones. I went to the shop for some Edelweiss, came back with Leffe and he pointed out the mistake even before he had sipped into it.

He was blind, it's easy that way.

At night he got out of bed to get a glass of water. While he was in the kitchen, I thought it would be funny to act as if I was waiting for an important text message. (I love jealous men.) When he got back into bed, he stroked my cheek:

- When we go to bed, you always turn it off. And that's just what you did tonight as well, at 23:32. It was when the last trolley was leaving the stop down on the street, I heard it. If you want to make me jealous, you have to cheat. Not just pretend to cheat.

My friends had left me, my soldiers had dispersed, my confidant had betrayed me. He sniffs my perfume, my phone doesn't ring, I can't explain. The key to the door of the room with the witch's brew of secrets and lies had broken into the lock. From the inside. That's when I knew this was over.

- I know, it's over. I don't understand women. Why? When we were in perfect harmony all along ...

- Take a wild guess. - I said.