And yes it’s a stupid holiday.
Me: I keep getting with women whom I tell, ‘Look, fuck who you want, but just tell me when you do alright?’ And they fuck ex boyfriends or some random dick & don’t tell me for weeks if ever, and for the latest time I realize I am a real asshole, and value your friendship & personage even more.
She: Is it a friendship between us? Sort of a helpless honesty I spose, but I do value it. You know me and I know you, even now, and despite everything we’ll never be quite strangers. Though honestly darlin’ the fact that you value me because I would tell you if I screwed someone else if it were related to things seems … We don’t lie, fundamentally I think to each other. I’m glad of that, in some cellular way. You know me, I know you and we’re both in orbit.
If you want women to stop lying to you start fucking better women. Just a thought. Not something I ever need to hear reports about.
Me: I love you & will always love you & measure every woman against you for the foreseeable future. I moved far away in part to no longer mentally orbit or feel your gravity, which has been partially successful. But all I meant was despite my attempts at libertinism, I am paid back for my egotism & ways. I yet attempt new people & find that even with a long, loose rope given them I am hanged.
She: I’ve had a similar problem in both people and you and a throwing off of gravity that I can never quite shake. New men have come and mattered but nothing worth a hanging rope. It’s a sort of radioactive feeling that has never left, maybe never will, how I feel for you. It would be hard, but I hope for happiness for you and the muchness I’ve always seen just glimmering there. The point being its your life to live in the muck or not. If you are happy please be so and continue because I can’t say it but you know what I feel for you, how I need you in my world. If you aren’t happy, change it. Every moment a possibility.
I sound like pollyanna. It’s mostly red wine. Its strange and all but I’m glad we aren’t strangers.
And yes it’s a stupid holiday.
Me: You made me happier for a time than I think anyone will be able to ever. I know no one else has. And that’s OK. It’s enough because it has to be enough. You made me ecstatic & then your absence made me more miserable than anyone can make me again (I think). And the last time I saw you at a Starbucks in Victoria I wished honestly to never see you again in order to not entertain fantasies of somethings otherwise. Your mind, your cognizance, is worth more than gold. In book recommendation or trial coverage or conversation, briefly sharing your gray matter is delight beyond all else. You’re the most wonderful human being I know. Or have known.
Bourbon for me. And beer. Saint Valentine died in agony. And that’s the holiday.
She: I can’t clean a house, am unapologetically flawed but you’ve always been fond of my gray matter. There was happiness there. We did have it. I’ve missed you since in unexpected moments where the feeling burbles to the surface. Maybe there’s some wormhole where the story is different. But in this necessary moment it’s enough.
I’m remembering St V got his guts ripped out for his trouble. Indeed that’s the holiday.
At that Starbucks, I hated that part. And hated you for not wanting to see me ever again, though I knew it was the smarter impulse.
Point being, on the backwash of this ridiculous holiday, after everything in this ridiculous life, I’m glad of you.
Me: I wanted more than anything to ask if you wanted to get a hotel & call in the next day. But instead I didn’t. And asked you about my resume.
She: If you’d asked or touched me I’d have said yes. It would have cost me, but I’d still have said yes.
Me: We’ll never be anything or could have been. But if we’re 50 & still aimless, still adrift, I want to be with you again, whatever the cost.
In the morning, I was blind drunk, remember.
She: As was I, of course. It’ll never happen and we would never have worked (you’d have broken me open and I’d have smited you and we would never have been able to keep a maid) but if the fates ever shake out differently, well that will be then. And for now we both exist, and there’s something in that.
And for the last bit of drunken record, I loved your mind, seeing how you saw things, how big some small motel room could get looking at the world from your point of view. There. Said.That is all. A happy day of red and pink to you.