I went on a date last night. I arrived horrendously late because of traffic. We opted for a hole-in-the-wall place, my favorite, where we talked of travels and art and school and travels again. I'll never understand the need to elaborate (unprompted) on all the places you've been to like it's some sort of feat. But with the night still young, we walked over to a nearby pub. The lights were dim and all the tables had newspaper for place mats. Live music echoed from the front of the bar as we made our way to the back. He told me more about his job, about his mom being a psychologist, about his former best friend and the friend who's now taken his place, how they met in college at Chapel Hill, how they both wanted to go to law school, how the guy used to be a staunch conservative until his trip to Bangkok ... I sipped my Guinness as the band crooned its rendition of Marcy Playground's "Sex and Candy"in the background. You always drank Black and Coke.
You did the night of our anatomy midterm when you dragged me out to Bananas for a quick bite that ended in us coming back at 4am. You wore a green V-neck t-shirt with those cargo shorts with the faint floral print with brown sandals. We were sitting on the bench in front of SD5. The air was crisp and I was tipsy and rambling, but you were looking at me like you could listen to me forever. You then launched into the confession that will forever be ingrained in my memory where you'll always be out on the balcony, looking out against the evening sky. It survives alongside the splash your feet made in the water when I flooded our apartment, the face you made when you tried that bitter black drink on our layover, our countless grocery lists, the hum of our transformer, the feel of your hand across the table at Aquarium, the curl of your hair against my cheek on rainy nights, the look on your face at JFK the last time you were mine and I was yours.
Everyone keeps asking how I'm handling your recent big news. I tell them how much I support you. I explain that it never would've worked between us, that we knew this would happen from the start, that I want you to be happy. And I do, so very much; I love you more than my need to be selfish. I love you enough to never see you again. But the ugly truth is that I'm a mess, and all of this is breaking my heart. When did being with people become so lonely?
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