i mentioned the city and i mentioned you, remembering how whole it had swallowed you up. i thought of the willows, the high wail of the streetcars on their rails, the empty dorm where i stayed so far from your home.
is there anyone you can't see? i asked, hopeful he'd know what i meant.
no, he said. no, i don't have anyone like that. it was a sad no. mournful and left out.
he's so full of passion, this boy, you would like him. oh and i do too. he's like a plaything, so tender and sweet and and all full of the best sorts of wonders and youthful angsts. i think of how it would be if i still loved you, how you'd give me this one. how you'd say go ahead. you deserve it.
how strange that i'd miss you for this.
what we had doesn't buy homes in the country. what we had doesn't raise kids. when i say i can't see you, it's not even right, it's not even true. a little hyperbole for dramatic effect.
and so, instead, i see him on his way. it's unbearable a little, unbearable but not sad. it's the right thing to do and i love it all the same, the parting, the moral superiority, the lone walk home. knowing there's no choice to be made.
you'd love it there, i said, thinking of the many moments over the course of this evening that had now passed, flashing through my mind with their untold stories coming to fore. it's really something.
