More than a month has passed & Moon Man & I remain an item, recovering together slowly from the shark attack. Turns out the shark was a prostitute. So while I was dreaming of breaking up with Moon Man, he was scheming online, throwing out bait to the shark.
The stuff nightmares are made of.
The past is in the past. And this gift we have known as the present has been shaped by all that is past so I wouldn’t change a moment of time gone by. What’s done is done & cannot be undone. Lady Macbeth, I hear you.
Moon Man has scheduled a round trip home to the moon soon. Already he cannot fathom how I can possibly stay faithful to him for the duration…12 days.
My past rears its brazen head around 3am on a Saturday night. It’s Max, innocently enough. Once upon a time we were sometimes lovers, nowadays he just drops me a line occasionally. ‘Hey’, he says. I am sleeping but Moon Man is wide awake, wondering who the fuck this Max on Messenger is.
I awake the following morning to a frosty reception in Moon Man’s bed. There is no mention of Max & his message until Moon Man & I have parted ways. Then I am greeted with a barrage of angry texts from him. Who the hell is Max? Why have I never mentioned him before? What’s he doing dropping me a line at that hour?
Blah blah blah. Is my blog is going to shite along with my relationship with Moon Man?
He wants to go through my phone for a short cut, for what wouldn’t be the first time & get to the bottom of the situation with Max. Red flag! I let him have his way with my phone, to a point. Then I tell him he can fuck off if he thinks he’s going through all of my messages with a fine tooth comb. Fuck off!
He takes my measure of privacy as a measure of my guilt. I have nothing to prove, my conscience is clear, I am totally devoted to him. So we hang in the balance…together. He’s fucking off to the moon soon but he’ll be back.
Faith In The Ripple Effect 