Where is the center of these decisions women make? Where the world around them seems to fit just perfectly and they find the opportunity to jump ship and defect in front of you, in spite of you. Meanwhile, you have done nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing wrong.
A friend of mine had his own version of my Ex, though on a shorter timespan. She came, she smiled, she betrayed and he was hurt badly. A good man turned to ashes by a woman who couldn’t wait a month to check out the next cock that wagged her way. He defend her, slightly, but in the end he followed most of my advice and did his best to play on her jealousy and attention whoring. He won’t get her back, the odds aren’t good, but at least he’s standing up for himself and proud of his new skills.
This gave me thought as we talked. What if the Ex came back? This would be round three. The first time, I visited her under the assumption we were together. She booted me out right before my plane was going to leave (we had planned that I stay past the date and drive up to get my shit before Cali) and later admitted to cheating while I was there. The second time, you know the story, abandonment. How dumb would I be to go for a third go around?
A ginger Eve, freckled and coy. An apple in her hand; happiness, godliness returned. Someone in my bed each night. Soft skin. Soft moans. The goals back on track. The good memories made true again. Offered the kingdom of the Earth, if only I renounced the Word. Nothing would have to change, just go back.
There are times where I’d give a testicle, or both, to get back to living on my own, with a girl, with a steady job in the state I wanted to live in. Where I had my own times, my own things, my own rooms, car, neighborhood, friends. My own country I could walk and explore as I wished. Every time I took to the valleys and rocky back country I’d feel like I could just dig a hole, eat rabbit and live soundly. Every time I got in bed with her, I felt the light and the heat and the love. Everything I was told. Why not go back?
Because its all a lie. Day one to the final hour, with her, it was lies. Lies upon lies. Lies into hate. Hate into resentment. Resentment into dumbfounded ignorance. Ignorance into oblivion. To return would be the suicide of dignity and the return to the chains of female irrationality. She wasn’t the only woman to sleep with me, or want to do more than just fuck. She won’t be the last.
The same advice goes to my friend and all the other broken hearted men. The offering seems like a miracle. Something too good, because it is. If you’ve been cheated on, abandoned so she can jump in with someone else or any small or large slight that ended your relationship, it’ll happen again without a major personality shift by her. She must adhere. She must submit. She must realize you are the man and she is the woman. Her hindbrain must realize you are the alpha and she is the nothing. No beta, no other alpha, no flight of feminine imagination may pass without your nod of approval.
These are the rules.