being hot was getting a little boring, so i started taking notes.
on books. on men. on the gap between what they say and what they do.
field note no. 001: men will tell me they miss me for three weeks
straight and somehow never discover calendars.
fascinating species.
"i miss you."
"i've been thinking about you."
"i really want to see you."
okay. when?
and suddenly the research becomes inconclusive.
i don't think they're lying. he really does miss me.
and then... nothing.
desire is a feeling.
effort is a decision.
and unfortunately, one sounds much hotter in a text.
"i've been thinking about you all day" does something to my brain.
"are you free friday at eight?" is less poetic.
but only one of them gets me dressed.
and before anyone gets confused:
yes, i'm open. about my body, about what i like, about sex.
that part of me is generous.
my heart is not.
you can have my body if i want you.
but the part of me that actually lets you in? that has a door policy.
being a slut and having standards aren't opposites.
i just keep them in different rooms.
i don't need flowers. i don't need a speech in the rain.
just a plan. something that exists outside your head.
the men i remember are the ones who did something about it.
because i cannot date a thought.
p.s. yes, i can write this and post something obscene ten minutes later.
literacy and sluttiness have never been mutually exclusive.
ava xo 💛
ava, annotated.