As she raised the glass to her lips, to take the final drink, she said, “This loneliness won’t leave me alone,” but I knew that she was quoting an old song that we used to listen to. She took the final swallow, after she spoke set the glass down and smiled. I didn’t know what to make of what she was saying, or what she was implying so I just sat back and lit a cigarette. I never thought we’d be here again; on the porch of her parent’s beach condo, drunk, while everyone else who was superficially hanging around all weekend were already headed back to the city. But, (and this is how it always starts) she told me to “Come ‘ere,” and said, “why don’t you love me?” knowing that I would, and that I still do. She never, not for a moment left the periphery of my mind, and for the moment I was able to overlook her infidelity, and the drug use that spurred it, and I could forget the time while driving through the desert on our way to Palm Springs after an argument where she told me to “Fucking die, you proletarian ingrate.” and left me on the side of the highway at a diner for three hours until she came back to get me, crying.
All the shit accessories that come along with her melted away the moment she reached for my still wet swim trunks, and pulled them down. Forgotten for however long I could because I was still in love, and she knew it.
http://www.sincesheleft.com/post/776793799/many-rivers-to-cross
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