Love languages I am intimately familiar with

daria shevtsova @ unsplash


  • pre-paying for my taxi because he’s too high to drive, again
  • doing the washing – doesn’t matter if you mixed white with red, does it? I like pink, right?
  • every heavily weighted sacrifice I never asked for
  • generously taking credit for my ideas – you’re the better executioner, I know
  • cutting me a thinner slice, a smaller portion, lines as slim as you like me


  • a gift voucher to the waxing studio
  • expensive trinkets with minimal resale value over cash as a deliberate power play
  • a gilded pinprick to my ego
  • all the tiny toys you won me from the 2p sliders on the pier
  • two thirds of my things back, shoved into a shoebox and left on the doorstep in the rain


  • the conspicuous absence of such
  • a look firmer than any well-placed hand
  • sloppy kisses that I don’t feel invested enough in to correct
  • expertly faking orgasms for reasons even I can’t fathom
  • caressing a record sleeve the way I wish you’d caress my ass, why don’t you do that anymore


  • meeting for the first time in ten months because cancelling on me is a better rush than any pill, any powder, any disgusting cup of coffee served up by a chinless camden cunt
  • spending forty minutes on the train for ten minutes of whiskey dick
  • dividing the cost of my travel by the amount of hours I spend awake with him
  • wondering if he sees me as a therapist, an awe-struck journalist, a fuckdoll or all three
  • hell is an endless string of gallery openings where you are the permanently muted +1


  • “you’re fascinating” – from every man I’ve ever dated, a month before they leave me for somebody else blander blonder and undoubtedly better
  • perpetually wondering whether to replace my entire okc profile with “a large, puffy, short-legged, big-breasted and practically brainless baba”
  • love letters you know she only wrote so she could reference them in her next “piece”
  • the whisper-crackle through the phone when you’ve both run out of things to say
  • a message telling me that they’ve started seeing someone (two days after they fucked me, two days after telling me they weren’t – naturally)