Arm Candy

He was my boasting and slick but almost too pretty, bigger-than-life-size project, my Prince Charming type breathing limerick.

Endlessly entertaining even while rebelling, consistently awarded for merely reveling in his own (albeit mostly borrowed) quick wit.

I stayed quiet, downplayed, dutifully mimed the girl in the mirror, for she couldn’t be more adoring and grateful.

Inescapably dull, forever unflattering, and auspiciously—while nearly suspiciously and bordering ironically—dreadfully droll.

As his opposite, I made him shine, and I voluntarily painted him as so lively, so funny, so fit—oh but I did it all for those looks of intense pleading which were so pleasing, knowing secretly he would give himself fully to me, even if ever only in private.