Do you remember me? I think about you every day. In fact, al-

most every decision I make depends on how I think you would approve.

You will never leave me, and not in any deceitful, obsessive or dour

way - no, you’ll stay in my heart as an influence of pure love and de-

votion, of intelligence, but also sadness. Sadness, because you had

to leave, because we cannot be together. Intelligence because of what

you taught me, and continue to teach. Devotion because of what you

sacrificed to be with me through everything. Pure love, because what

I think about you most of all was our inconsistent love, and how much

I miss any sort of contact. There will be others, for sure, there are

always others, but somehow you stick inside me, as a reminder of what

true love is, of what that means to me, and of how love comes unex-

pected and lingers on over time no matter how one seems to have left

it long ago.

“Do you want room for milk?”

“Uh, yeah, sure. Thanks.”

“No problem.”

“Which way are the escalators?”

“Just down that aisle, take a right and you can’t miss it.”

“Okay, thanks.”

I cannot seem to let it go, whatever it was that we had, that

evolution rolled into one piece that has, by your own evaluation, be-

come solidified and petrified - buried deep within the earth and read-

ied for excavation thousands of years from now. If we live to see

that time, those causes will only tell. With every new woman I meet,

I seek you in her. Does she like the same music and films as you,

does she have your bangs, your build, does she smell the same, does

she move like you, will she have your laugh… sometimes the comparisons

become too much. I tell myself, this is not worth it, stop comparing

her to everyone else, but moving forward is impossible, or at least an

intangible, disappearing thing.

“Excuse me, can you move.”

“Oh, sorry. Go ahead.”

“No, you’re in my spot. Can you—”

“Yeah, yeah. There.”

To move forward means to make new mistakes, to grow, to learn, to

love and lose, to love and win, to win and take hold, to leave behind

the past. One must leave behind what has come before in order to move

ahead. Nostalghia is important, it’s necessary, it’s a defining feature

that makes us human - never forget that which makes you who you are.

Never be ashamed of it, either. I am only learning now what that

means, and how I can react to moving forward from losing.

“The minimum is ten dollars.”

“What?”

“Ten dollar minimum on the card.”

“Oh, uhh, how much do I have on there now?”

“Seven. Three dollars, sir.”

“Okay…is this three dollars?”

“Yes. Okay, thank you very much.”

“Thanks.”

I miss your pussy: perfect, tight, pink, when my cock said hello

your cunt blushed; your taste stayed in my mouth for months after we

last saw each other. The taste returned in the summer when it became

humid. I am nostalghic for you, to fuck and to eat and to live and to

breathe to talk and move ahead into our next conversation. How do I

do that? How can one say they must love again, if love is gone? The

desire that burns deep is still a fire for you, or maybe it’s a fire in

the wind without any reason being lit. Once love has left, what else

is there? Another love, a different kind of love, none the same or as

strong, relevant to this time - now, none that got me hard, none that

worked just as well as we did together, until, obviously, it ended.

“Do you have these in 37? I looked through the entire pile and I

couldn’t find any…”

“Sure, let me check in back for you.”

“Thanks.”

What I miss most is how you approached life through the same

means as I did - through music and painting, I even enjoyed your minor

interest in fishing. You never lived according to anyone else’s plans

other than your own. I don’t know where it went wrong… no, I know, I

know where but I don’t like listening to that again. My own faults are

elements I don’t wish to harbor on. The sex was amazing. We really

got along, but then there was your husband, and my other girlfriend.

“No, we don’t have them in 37, but we do have them in 34.”

“34?”

“Yes, 34.”

“No, no I can’t fit into those.”

“Try, here’s a pair.”

“Okay, well, I know that I can’t fit into those - these are 36 and it’s

too small.”

“Excuse me for one moment.”

“Uh-okay, it’s only that…”

If we were strictly monogamous, then there could have been a pos-

sibility of having a working relationship, but the attraction would

not have been the same. We could have lived on the beach and spent

hours together getting stoned, fucking, me writing and you reading,

stroking the ocean’s waves. That would have been perfect, us in a

world of our own in a cozy house where the sun perpetually hung just

above the horizon line. I wanted that just as much as you did. You’d

go back to your family, and I would go back to mine. Although, mine

wasn’t the same as yours. I could always change mine. Find another

woman, keep her as a pet, but my mind would always be on you. I would

save all my come for your cunt.

“Look at me when I tell you this, you look amazing.”

“Really? Feels kind of tight…”

“No, not at all, it fits perfectly.”

“You don’t think I could go a size higher? Two sizes, maybe?”

“No, this is in, you’re going to kill.”

“Huh… yeah, I’ll just need some time to wear this one in.”

“Oh no, they’re already pre-washed, so you don’t have to do that.”

“Pre-washed, eh.”

“Yeah, it’s the new look. Very popular.”

“You think I look cool?”

Am I obsessed with you? Are these thoughts obsessive? No, I

don’t think they are, they are just thoughts, just my own self talking

with my other self. I miss you. I made the wrong choice moving here.

I should have stayed, I should have moved to you - I don’t know why I

came here. I don’t know what to do without you. When will I ever see

you again? Will I ever talk to you again? I still have your phone

number, even though you said you deleted mine. I think that’s bull-

shit.

“With cheese?”

“No, no cheese.”

“Cheese?”

“I said no cheese.”

I tried calling you once. Did I try to call her once? Maybe I

just thought about it when I was drunk, and realized that it wasn’t the

best choice. When you’re drunk, you know, never a good idea. I miss

her. I don’t know how to start over again. Should you fall in love

again? But wait, you never really start that, you can never control

who you fall in love with or how you fall in love. Why should I fall?

I think that when I get back, I’ll listen to what Bob has to say. He

always puts me in the right frame of mind.

“Seven people died on a Metro Commuter Train this evening around 6:30

PM—“

“Oh my god did you hear about that?”

“What?”

“The seven people that died on the train?”

“Only seven?”

“It was some kind of freak accident…”

You were the only one that really cared for me, and I ignored

that because I thought I could do better. In retrospect, yeah I knew

I was wrong. What I was was a major asshole, super selfish. All you

wanted to do was to love me, and I rejected that love. I used you for

my own sexual needs, and forgot about how much you meant to me.

You know what they always say, you never know if it was true love

until she’s gone. Or is it, love the one you’re with… if you miss her

when she’s not there, then true love… fuck it, I miss you, every day I

miss her, and the pain of not seeing her, not being with you, fills up

my mind with too many emotions. All day, every day. I never knew how

much I needed you until you were gone. I never knew how much you

loved me until after you were out of my life. There are fewer things

more depressing in this life than wanting something back which seems

unattainable, out of reach, never to be seen again. It’s dead in the

physical world, but lives repetitively in the mind.

All of those unfinished lines will never be spoken, all of the

words I wanted to say but didn’t know how will only be heard in my

voice’s head. Every thread that was left open-ended, with no resolu-

tion whatsoever other than an abrupt silence, those potential lives

will never become a reality. Those lives had a future, but they will

never return, and you will never see the likes of those women ever

again. If you want to repeat yourself, similar circumstances might

present themselves to you in different forms, but true growth will

manifest itself in whether or not you change.

“These are most popular sneakers. Perfect for all occasion.”

“They’re good for walking?”

“Perfect for walking, running, sports - you like a.”

“I don’t know about running, ha, ha!”

“Ha, ha! No, these, perfect for any walk or run. Try on.”

But will I know how to measure my growth? How will I know if I

have repeated myself? Will I know a potential life when it merges

with mine?

“Debit or credit?”

“Debit - debit.”

“Okay, type in your pin number.”

She was nice, she felt good. Isn’t that what you wanted? Isn’t

that what she gave you? She was the only one who loved you - the only

one who wanted to give you her love, and you were afraid. You ran.

She felt good: holding her those nights, feeling her head rest on your

chest, and having her hand in yours, moving along your palms and feel-

ing your pulse. Laying naked in bed for hours, listening to her soft

whisper next to your ear, and feeling her body throb. She adored you.

Isn’t that what you wanted? To fuck all night, and then sleep arm-in-

arm in a warm embrace. For someone to accept you and all your faults?

Isn’t that love? I miss you.

“Get down on the ground! NOW! Get down!”

“Face down, mother fucker! Do it!”

“What? Whoa- what I didn’t do anything, officers—“

“Open your jacket. What’s in the bag? Empty it. NOW! EMPTY THE BAG

NOW!”

“All right, all right. They’re just groceries.”

“Fuck. Don’t ever fucking walk down this street again. You GOT IT?!”

“This is where I live.”