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I am having an enlightenment at two in the morning, when I should be sleeping, but the allure of a mental breakthrough is so tempting, so I stay up. I think about how a relationship is like a plant in a pot, how I am the plant, spreading my roots, and the relationship defines the boundaries of the pot, and I keep trying to grow, but I can’t anymore, and I feel myself slowly dying in this small, suffocating pot. I realize now that K. and I have reached our natural limit, the edges of the pot defining how far we can go, and for us to evolve, to reach the next stage of growth, we would have needed a bigger pot, one that lets us spread out, become something greater, larger. Who we are defines the boundaries of the pot, and we are too small for it now. I think about how endings aren’t really endings, because every ending is also a new beginning, and so there aren’t any true endings in life. It’s all one big circle, the cyclic nature of everything. I think about the day my cat died, and how painful it was, how it felt like something in me was ripped away, but then I remember how his presence transformed into something else. I planted lavender on his grave, and now, instead of a barren patch of earth in the garden, I see lavender swaying in the wind, and it reminds me that nothing really dies, it just changes form, and I find peace in that thought, as much as I can. I think about the memories I shared with K., and they come rushing back, thick and fast, overwhelming me at times. I let them touch me, wash over me, I let myself feel their presence, and sometimes I can’t breathe because it’s too much, it feels like I’m drowning in all of it, but I let the pain do its job, I let the wounds heal. I know this is the healthiest way to approach it, to let it out instead of keeping it in. And when it feels like I can’t take it anymore, I ground myself in the present: five things I see, four things I can touch, three things I can hear, and suddenly, the pain isn’t so bad, not entirely gone, but manageable. Sometimes, the memories are like clouds floating by. I acknowledge them, watch them drift by, and don’t hold on. I can’t block them out, I don’t want to numb them, so I let them pass. And I think about the end of the relationship, and how it feels like the chance for us both to go on separate journeys now, journeys of self-discovery, to learn about ourselves, to learn from each other, to take what we’ve shared and carry it forward in different ways. I don’t know where those journeys will take us, or if our paths will cross again, but I imagine us as different people if that happens, strangers who have grown in separate directions, perhaps bumping into each other on the street, barely recognizing each other, but that’s alright. Every love story begins with two strangers, anyway. 12 hours later. I am on my way to pick up my things from K.’s house, and I’ve prepared a list of things to say to him, things I’ve rehearsed in my head a hundred times. Thanks for everything: check. Let’s be friends: check. Let’s keep the Japan trip: check. Sobbing on the floor, begging for forgiveness: double check. Okay, I’m joking about the last one. Except, he throws me a curveball. He sends me a message saying he’s not home and tells me to let myself in, gather my things, leave. How convenient, I think, how clever too. I hadn’t considered being absent as an option, but I see now how genius it is, because this way, I can gather my things without breaking down, becoming one big mess on the floor that looks as though it was cleaned yesterday. I walk through his house one last time, taking in the air, the energy of the rooms where we shared so many moments. I let it all go, slowly, and then all at once. In the kitchen, I find a pile of memories waiting for me—everything he’s gathered, now heaped in the backseat of my car. I think I’ll clear it out tonight, once the weather cools, and I grab something to eat too. Before leaving, I find a piece of paper and a pen. I write him a short message, the things I wanted to say from my list, minus the tear stains, and place it on his bedside table, where I know he’ll see it, possibly during bedtime. A little devious, perhaps. A small part of me hopes the words will keep insomnia close at bay for him tonight. I don’t care. Okay, maybe just a little.

Kevin is coming over tonight. I told him over text that we would be having pasta and asked if he could cut some basil to bring over. He has a habit of pruning the basil the wrong way—yes, there is a right and wrong way—so I sent him a picture of a basil plant with dotted lines to indicate where to cut it. I tell him that I will be having my daily nap and for him to wake me up by crawling into bed, give me a wake-up hug. I try to take my nap, but the news of Sam Altman returning to OpenAI excites me, so I stay up way too long to read all about it. I get a bit horny, so I go to Pornhub and watch some porn, jerk off, come, which relaxes me, and I am finally tired enough to have my nap, although it lasts only about an hour. Later. I can hear the door of my bathroom sliding open, and I know that Kevin is here, but I pretend that I am still asleep. I can hear his pants coming off; his shirt follows, and he crawls into bed with me, gives me a hug. “Well, hello,” I say, tired but glad to see him. “Hello there, handsome,” he says, gives me a hug. We lay there like that, hugging each other for almost an hour before I announce that I am getting hungry—it is almost 8 PM after all—so we get up from bed, put on our clothes, walk to the kitchen. Tonight, he is in charge of making the sauce. We have a routine going on when making pasta, which has served us well: he basically does the cooking, and I prep all the ingredients. I cut the sausages in two, squeeze out the content. Then, I dice the onion and the mushrooms. I give him the ingredients, and he begins to cook it. I prepare the sauce by emptying out the content of store-bought Napoletana, and begin to boil the pasta. By the time it is done, Kevin has finished making the sauce, and we combine the two. We don’t talk much during cooking beside the usual “here you go,” when I hand him the ingredients and the “thank you,” in response. We are focus on the tasks and there is a silent connection between us that speaks louder than words. The whole process takes thirty minutes from beginning to end, and we sit at the dining room table, marveling at our creation. “See,” I say. “This is why I much prefer to stay at home and cook. It’s cheaper and tastier.” This is true, and he nods in agreement. We open a can of Coke and share it between the two of us. It’s refreshing and hits all the right notes. I turn on the latest episode of Family Guy and we watch it until the very end. Later. We are in bed now. I am feeling very full and very tired. Kevin is giving me a foot massage. Soft autumn jazz music plays on our HomePod. We talk about what is happening in our lives in the form of updates, which are small short stories. I tell him about my car battery dying on me, and he tells me about the progress on getting his home insured from the recent burst pipes upstairs. The night is getting late—actually, it is only 10 PM—so we both go and floss our teeth, brush them. We tell Siri to turn off the lights, and before anyone knows it, the room is fill with snores.

I am making my way down to South Melbourne Market today, heading to Chef Hat. I’m planning to buy some plates, the ones with raised circular edges. I’m following Apple Maps on my phone, and it’s leading me down a direction I don’t usually take, but I get to my destination nonetheless. It’s on the other side of the market, and I make a few turns here and there, searching for parking. I find a spot—30 minutes only. I turn off the engine, park, and step out. I make my way toward the shop, confident I know the way, a podcast playing in my ears as I navigate through the crowd, until … I realize I’m on the opposite side of the market. I know where I am—I’ve been here before—but I was so sure I’d made the right turn. And now? The world feels like it’s spinning. My sense of direction has completely vanished. Worst of all, I don’t know where my car is. I think I parked near some apartment buildings? I look at my watch. Only five minutes have passed. I try to backtrack. I think I crossed two crossways, or was it one? Did I pass this coffee shop on my way here? I want to retrace my steps, but I can’t remember a thing. I wasn’t paying attention to my surroundings at all. A flicker of panic rises in my chest, but I keep it hidden, making sure I don’t look lost to anyone watching. I’ve always been good with directions, so why does it feel like a part of my memory has been erased, no matter how hard I try to recall I think about the fine I’ll get if I don’t move my car in time. I think about how, if my partner were here, this might not have happened—another set of eyes, another brain to remember. I catch myself breathing a little faster now as I wander from street to street. There are so many people. Too many. Then, somewhere off in the distance, I spot it. My car. The little blue Jazz I’ve had for 14 years now, parked neatly by the curb outside someone’s house. Relief floods over me as I realize it’s only two minutes away from the shop. If only I’d paid more attention. As I walk back to my car, it hits me: life now is just one person—me. It used to be my partner and me, doing everything together. There were advantages to that. It felt like we could accomplish anything together. Now? It’s just me, and I’m still learning to do things on my own. It feels jarring at times, disorienting, like today. Traveling was another thing he helped me with. I was never confident to travel on my own; the thought terrified me. I always worried about being lost in another country where I didn’t know anyone or couldn’t speak the language. I still don’t think I have the courage to do it on my own, if ever. I bet the world would spin just like it did today if I found myself lost and alone. But when I’m with someone, I can bounce ideas off them if we ever get into trouble. I’ll never feel truly alone, even when we’re lost. It’s something I’m realizing about myself today—I don’t fear being lost as much as I fear being lost alone. I know I’ll have to come to terms with this feeling until I can stand on my own two feet again. It’s going to take time. I’ll probably stumble a few more times along the way, but life demands it. Life demands us to keep moving, to adapt, to keep going.

Harvey was a tease. I met him when he was 18. My friend was trying to get with one of Harvey’s friends and we ended up going back to their place. My friend ended up hooking up with the other guy in one of the bedrooms and I sat talking with Harvey on the couch in the living room. He was a slender, blonde twink with soft features and great lips. I found out he was a total bottom. He straddled me on the couch and ground his ass on my crotch. “I bet you wanna fuck me,” he said. “Of course I do,” I replied. “Unfortunately that won’t be happening tonight,” he said. He didn’t say why but I told him it was cool. Then he leaned down and gently kissed me. His lips were perfection. The kiss was soft and gentle, he didn’t use his tongue for the first minutes, but then slowly introduced it. I have never gotten closer to cumming from just a kiss. We must have kissed for nearly 30 minutes before my friend came out from the bedroom and we left. I saw Harvey every couple months over the next year or two and he would always throw his arms around my neck and give me those incredible soft kisses. I was so ready to fuck this twink but he always had some excuse for not going back to my place. One night I was walking from one bar to another when I saw him approaching from the other direction. “I was hoping to see you tonight,” he said. “Why’s that?” I asked. He pulled a condom out of his pocket and showed it to me. He grabbed me by the hand and led me to a parking lot in the next block. We went behind a van that blocked us from the street and he started kissing me. He unbuckled my belt and opened my pants and took out my rock hard cock. “Wow, I should’ve let you fuck me a long time ago with this thing,” he said before using those gorgeous lips to suck me. He did that for about 30 seconds and then took the condom out and rolled it onto me. He stood up, turned around and started to undo his pants. And then his phone rang. He looked at it and said he had to take it. It was one of his friends needing to leave. He said he had to go and I told him I could be quick. He smiled, gave me a kiss and squeezed my cock and walked off, leaving me with a condom wrapped cock poking out into the night. I pulled it off, zipped up, and went on to the bar. A couple years later it was my last night living in my apartment downtown. I decided to make one more trip to the bars. After a couple of drinks I was ready to leave and I ran into Harvey. He gave me one of those soft kisses and asked where I was going. I told him I was going home for the night and he asked if he could walk me. I said yes and we went back to my place. I invited him up. My place was empty except for my mattress and a couple boxes that I had moved out to the living room. We sat on the mattress and he kissed me some more. “How come you never fucked me?” He asked. I was incredulous. “You never wanted me to,” I shot back. “Guess you never tried that hard,” he teased. “Well I’m going to tonight,” I told him. He stood up. I figured he was going to walk out being the tease he is, but he turned to me and started unbuttoning his shirt. He did a slow strip tease for me, finally pulling down his pants to reveal a tiny jock strap covering his cock. He pulled me to my feet and stripped off my shirt and pulled my pants and underwear off in one go. Those gorgeous lips wrapped around my cock and he sucked me for a few minutes before laying down on his back on the mattress. I got on top of him and we started kissing, my cock sliding over his jock strap. As we kissed I pulled my hips back enough to let my cock fall between his legs and down to his crack. I started gently thrusting as I lifted his legs slightly so my cock would come in contact with his hole. I started to push inside but he squeezed his legs tight around me to stop me moving. “You have to rim me before you fuck me,” he told me. I flipped him face down and spread his cheeks apart and dove in. I ate him out for nearly 5 minutes, getting his hole wet and loose. I moved up his body so my cock nestled in his ass crack and started slowly sliding the head of my dick across his asshole as I kissed his neck. After a couple strokes I let it settle at his entrance and started to push in, only the spit from my rim job and my precum providing any lubrication. I felt the head slip through his sphincter and then felt him clench hard. “You have a condom,” he asked. “I don’t think so,” I replied. “Too bad,” he said, bucking his hips slightly so I slid out of him. “Listen up you little cock tease,” I snapped in his ear. “I’ve been waiting to fuck this ass for years and if the only way I’m doing that tonight is bareback, then I’m lubing my cock with spit and fucking you raw until I cum deep in your ass. Then you’re gonna wait on your hands and knees while I watch my load drip out of your hole.” I was mostly joking of course in my own teasing way, of course I’d only fuck someone bare if they wanted it, but then I heard: “yes daddy.” I moved up to his head, put my cock at his lips and grabbed his hair. “Get me wet,” I ordered. He spent a few moments slobbering on my cock occasionally encouraging me to hold his head as far down on my cock as I could. I was a bit surprised as he’s always so tender when we kissed, I didn’t realize he liked it so rough. I pulled him off my cock and he looked at me and said “fuck me, and don’t be gentle.” I took my soaked cock back to his hole, put one hand on the small of his back, the other on the side of his head pressing him down into the mattress and slid balls deep into him. He moaned in pleasure. I started pounding him ruthlessly with my bare cock. He kept telling to go harder and I kept increasing my thrusting. Suddenly I stopped with my cock deep in him and started tonguing his ear. He started bucking his hips trying to get some movement going. “Beg for it,” I ordered. “Breed me daddy,” he moaned. “Fuck me until you cum.” I pulled out of him and flipped him over on his back. I put his legs on my shoulders and sank my uncovered cock back into him and started my relentless fucking again. He took my hands and put them at his throat, not really my thing but you gotta make your bottoms happy. I had him almost folded in half as I choked him and kissed him. I was quickly running out of stamina from fucking so hard, but I could feel my orgasm approaching. A few more thrust sent me over the edge, my semen flooded into him. I collapsed down on to him. “Fuck I love being bred,” he said. “I love breeding,” I told him. “Now get on your hands and knees.” I pulled out of him with a squelch and he got on all fours with his gaping ass pointing at me. I spread his cheeks apart as he flexed his hole. After a few seconds I saw the white of my sperm appear at his hole, followed shortly by a blob of it sliding out and down his ballsack. Fucking hot. I smacked him on the ass and cuddled him to my chest. We spent the next 30 minutes gently kissing. He left after that.

One. There is a weird dynamic between Kevin and me. He always wants to pay for things, including things that are mine, like my clothes, groceries. I strive for personal independence, especially financially, so we tend to clash. Recently, we have been using AI, ChatGPT, to help settle our debates. It acts as a judge, and we have two rounds to state our cases and rebut each other. The AI’s decision is final. So far, I have been winning. Two. We have started our gardening adventures together. In the past five weeks, we have planted palm trees, birds of paradise, herbs, and ferns. I visit Kevin on the weekend, and I look forward to seeing how the garden is progressing. Today, I noticed that a new leaf has formed on the bird of paradise, and the herbs are ready to be harvested. Spring is becoming a favorite season of mine, for new growth and opportunities are plentiful here. In Summer, we shall reap our harvest, and I can’t wait for that day to arrive. Three. We are watching a YouTube channel called Spanian. He is covered in tattoos and makes travel blog videos. Today, he is in District 4 in Vietnam tasting local eats. He stops at a local kebab shop, and we are laughing because that’s anything but local. Then, he stops at a deep-fried shop that sells fried cheese sticks and fried chicken wings, and we shake our heads at how westernized street food has become in Vietnam. If only, we think to ourselves, he had a local Vietnamese guide. Then he would experience the culture more fully.