yuvi zalkow

My first girlfriend told me that she loved me more than anyone else in the whole world. My first therapist told me I was incapable of love but that I should keep a journal of my emotions.

My second girlfriend told me that I could give her a hotter orgasm than anyone in the world. My second therapist told me that my emotional growth was stunted at the oral phase of development and that I should find out if I was breastfed.

My third girlfriend told me that my nighttime phone voice was the scratchiest voice in the world. My third therapist told me that I must get on medication so I can finally get some sleep.

My fourth girlfriend told me that she loved doing happy hour with me. My fourth, fifth, six, and ninth therapists told me that I had a drinking problem.

My fifth girlfriend told me that she really enjoyed our alone time. My fifteenth therapist told me that I needed to get out more.

My sixth girlfriend told me that I’m a coward, especially in the bedroom. My eighteenth therapist told me that I have narcissistic personality disorder but that I also have nice, full lips.

My wife tells me that I’m the most insecure person she’s ever met. My twenty-first therapist tells me to reconsider my writing career.