a fun casual joint

i pick you up for dinner and you climb into my car,

almost like nothing has changed but not quite.

there’s a sparkling water in the center console for you. sorry it’s not cold, i say. it’s been out of the fridge too long. you tell me thank you anyway, thank you for thinking of me. 

i drive quietly but i see your hair blowing back as you look out the open window and it almost makes me cry. your curls are so beautiful- i can see you’ve been tending to them carefully. they breeze across your forehead and i wish it were my fingertips, tracing your brow bone and almost covering your eyes.

we talk about a little bit of nothing and a little bit of everything. you tell me that you saw a girl but you had to stop, you started to cry. you tell me you’ve been drinking in your room, angry and alone. i tell you ive been meeting new friends but i don’t feel like myself. i tell you too much about where my mouth has been. 

we have dinner and it feels like coming home after a long time away in an unfamiliar and frightening place. the sound of your voice reaches down deep inside my chest and grabs my heart and stops it for three beats. we talk some more. i show you all of the things i have collected in the album on my phone that i wanted to show to you before but couldn’t. you wince at something i should not have shared. i am seized by guilt. i find it cathartic and nauseating.

i catch myself looking at you like i think you are going to kiss me. i catch myself looking at you like we are going home together after we pick up the check. 

i tell you i can’t be your friend. i’m still in love with you. i can’t be your friend. you look at me with pain in your eyes and say: i dont want to be your friend. 

you look at me in a way ive never seen you look at me before. 

you say to me: 

i think we should never see each other again, 

and feel like i’m going to throw up, i feel my chest collapsing in on itself and folding outwards and twisting until my body is unrecognizable. crumpled dollar bill. i understand, i say. i can’t see it either, a way for us to move forward. we can’t be together. we can’t be friends. what does that leave? except to say goodbye truly? 

how can i explain it: i know you are right. it comes out of your mouth too naturally for it to be a mistake and as soon as you say it i know it is true. how can we see each other? how can i look at you? how can you look at me? i know you are right. 

there is nothing left to say then. we cry. i pay the bill and drive you home in silence except for the occasional sob. but i reach over and hold your hand. i squeeze it three times to say: 

i love you. 

you let out a noise like a wounded animal. you squeeze my hand four times to say: 

i love you too. and then we are back in front of your place and i will never go inside again. i look up at the window of your bedroom. we will never open it to lean out and smoke. or pull the curtains closed so we can sleep just a little bit longer, 

just five more minutes, 

pressed together like one body instead of two. 

i go home. i die and still wake up in the morning. i miss you. i will miss you. i mourn you. i will mourn you. i resent you. i will forgive you. there is nothing to forgive.