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“What about you? Surely a piece of fine man meat like yourself has been tagged and bagged. The world isn’t safe with guys with a body and face like that walking around as free men. It would be absolute chaos, and things seem pretty calm here so far. No one has swooned to death on the bar or burned alive from their panties spontaneously combusting, so you must have a woman since all is in balance in the universe.”
A feeling of solidarity with this man causes me to raise my glass in a toast between us spontaneously. “To someday. Maybe.”
It’s easier not to hold on to the things you’ve never actually possessed. When you’ve memorized every freckle and different types of laugh a person has, living without them becomes nearly impossible. The process of attachment starts with exchanging names.
The paper wings frantically beat against my chest with every step that takes me away from her. But paper wings are too insubstantial to fly.
“My love, without you, I would not be me. I love you.”
“Does it ever get easier?” I ask softly. “No, my darling. It just gets a little more bearable.”
“You did the best you could do. And that’s all any of us can ever do. We do our best and hope it works out. But you know better than anyone by now that life isn’t fair and bad things happen to good people.”
They say time heals all wounds. I disagree. Time opens them up repeatedly and cauterizes them, leaving even nastier scars.
