Always have I thought that changing your wardrobe for someone was ridiculous. That a haircut signifying the start of a new chapter in your life “as a girl” was ridiculous. That you had to spend on sexy lingerie that barely cover the proper parts of you using money you've dedicated months before for buying new, practical form-supporting underwear to replace the ratty ones you wear at home (which had been unhealthy but comfortable) was likewise, ridiculous.
As you can probably tell, no one in particular, I am a very logical person. I did not go on a shopping spree. I was too busy making sure I have the spare money, for show, whenever he offered to pay for the date, or for real, when he suddenly wasn't able to. I did not get a haircut even when we broke up. I did not buy silly lingerie. That would have flaunted my ass. Which on Friday nights I seat on a couch while in reasonable panties, sweatpants I'd wear til Saturday morning, and a thick blanket. I did not change my style. I almost wish I did. Why?
Because in the privacy of my evening rituals, I am invaded. I remember him. Vivid memories of him. The ones that had supposedly been the most intimate and the ones I wouldn't be able to describe to anybody but won't erase themselves from my memory anyway.
This black one, it was after we dined at that restaurant. The kitchen displayed roasted spare ribs a girl would have held back on. I ordered one plate when I could have ordered two servings. Which I would have done if I hadn't known I'd be using my salary for both of us again that night. This blue one, it was when he said he liked girls who grew their hair and I always thought guys liked them bald.... This pink one, it was when he forgot something downstairs we had to do it "upstairs". I'm pretty sure you know what I mean.... Or maybe not, they're about the same level when lying down anyway.
See, if I changed my style back then, all I'd have to do to my old maiden style is to switch back. But I didn't change my style. And I wish I would now, but lace and G-strings aren't really my thing.
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[This was intended as a prose poem, but diverse interpretations are welcome.]
[Originally self-published with formatting. Also published by TMC Creative Agency.]
[I appreciate anyone's volunteering to compare this version with the formatted one, just comment below!]