Tuesday, November 2, 2010

On Halloween

On Halloween I ended things with him. My drawn in whiskers were smudged, like ash on his nose. I grew quiet, the vodka swimming in our eyes. He asked what was wrong, pressed against him like that, close and quiet. He said he liked me a lot, that we could try things and see how they would go. He said it would be harder to end things the longer we went on. Then he admitted that he was moving for a promotion in three to six months. I said the ambiguous is the scariest thing to human beings, that it starts wars. I pressed my lips together firmly. I want and wanted it to work so much. I wanted to stay there pressed against him and have the courage and blind optimism to trust in something. But I don't and didn't. So I put on my cat ears with the little red bow, got up, and walked towards the door. I stood there, my palm on the cold doorknob, for eternity. I know and knew what it meant if I opened and shut it behind me.

I don't remember if I kissed him goodbye.

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