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Met at a party.

Nothing in common
but mutual friends,
house music,
The Simpsons,
and doing drugs.
He used to throw a fit
if I didn't spend the night
every night.
Then he'd sit in front of the computer
and tell me I was like
in his apartment.
But why not?
What would I do at home alone?
At least I'd not be getting ignored by him.
Felt like I was in love 
after two months,
he's pressuring me to live with him
after a couple more.
Guilt trip:  "I think
I want too much out of this relationship." 
What did I have to lose?
I'd wake him up at six in the morning,
We'd do it, snuggle, and fall back to sleep
for six hours more.
"If I were a Christian, I'd ask you to marry me," he once said in bed.
Felt like I had to prove my love,
and show more maturity than I truly possess.
Moved to the ghetto for him.
Tried to keep quiet when I wanted more
attention, less talk about music and
computers, more
I started to notice things about him
I didn't like:  he couldn't relate to me/
doesn't like to read/
thinks poetry is trivial.
"Don't think I have enough 
to give."
Sex life dwindled to just the mornings we were
getting along (a minority of the week's days)--
not like in the December of our first winter:
making sessions (4 times,
can we go 5? in one day).
But love-hate relationships seem to be the only kind I am
capable of.

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