eleven months

PAST: a.l.

I loved

you

a little.

You were a choice: the tall barman or the tan barman

and it turned out the tall barman had a long-distance fiancé so.

You.

You were deliciously obtuse, that intoxicating sort of innocence that just begs.

It begs.

"Walk me home?"

"Me?"

God, please.

But I was needy I was desperate I looked in the mirror and saw evil, grease seeping out of pores and fat seeping out of clothes and misery seeping out of me

We were the backseat of a car and a McDonald's breakfast date and a virginity but we had nothing to say to each other

we had cold dead air and silent car rides.

You loved me but I didn't.

I think that was our biggest problem.