He takes everything on our first date: the food on my plate, my glass of wine, my cellphone, my purse, my car keys. He steals my Volkswagen, and I’m left to walk home alone in the rain. I don’t mind that he’s a kleptomaniac because we’ve fallen in love. He looks just like Ryan Gosling.
He empties my bank account. He moves into my house, kicks me out, and changes the locks. Later, he comes outside where I wait on the porch only to ask what’s left.
I point to my chest. “Take my heart.”
“But I don’t want your heart.”