Love hurts

I fell in love with her. I loved the way her dark tights shimmered in the dim light of the bar. I loved how the fur of her coat—a garment that spoke of someone else’s wealth—tickled my cheek. I loved the way she shivered in the glow of the fireplace.

She didn’t love me when her tights snagged on sharp branches. She didn’t love me when her fur coat seemed to pretend it belonged to a wild animal darting between the trees.

I don’t know if she would have loved the bonfire I lit for her. It likely wouldn’t have warmed her—and certainly not me. Because she is an ungrateful girl.

Love hurts good guys.