He was the nicest guy I’d met in a long while- it wasn’t
about false flattery with him. He was genuine. He understood. And then it occurred
to me that maybe he understood too well. Maybe he knew more than any of the
other ones ever had before.
And I was right. Because that one night, after you thought I
was yours, we went out for drinks. And you saw me talking with another guy. He was
the best listener I’d met in a while. And he was funny. And it wasn’t about
false flattery with him. He didn’t understand quite the same way- but maybe
that was for the best. And then he left the bar for a minute to explain to his
girlfriend that he’d be late tonight. And you looked at me, and I returned your
look. I wasn’t sure what it was asking of me. Until I felt your hand on my leg.
And then I understood. And I turned away. But you’d found the answer to your
silent question.
“So he’s tonight’s conquest.”
And I swallowed my tears and drew lines in the little beads
of water on the glass in front of me. Because only I was allowed to look at
them like that. Only I was allowed to think about them like that. Only I was
allowed to see myself in that light.
But you had figured it out. You understood. And that
terrified me.
