maps

I’ve thought frequently on all of the girls who’ve had your presence, your eye, your ear, your heart since me. It drove me insane with jealousy, as I’d believed I had some pathetic claim on you because of what we’d said to each other that time. But then I kept forgetting those were only words, and it was the action that was important. We’d never gotten to the action part. So how could I be jealous? How could I hate you for moving on from what never even happened?

I certainly tried. Last spring I met with my ex. We lay together in a secluded area of a park, and he asked me who I’d been with since he and I were together. I felt the need to make a show of it, to make him jealous because I’d known he’d been with many since me. But when your name came up, everything I said was true. You were unlike anyone I’d met. I wanted you so badly, and you couldn’t hang around, so we never knew if we could have been more, if we could have been great. He’s so smart, I bragged. But really pretentious about it. I liked that about him. Did we kiss, my ex wanted to know. No, I told him. He’s gay, my ex said. We laughed. Then he kissed me, touched me where he used to. Where I liked. But I don’t think of him much at all.

I think of you, still.

tripped

let me have you