He said I'm jealous of your life. I told him I was jealous of his. We laughed knowing one could have the other easily. He looked at me long and hard, occasionally commenting on a habit or body part of mine. I gave him a hard time about whatever I could think of, it was all I could do to keep from getting pulled in too deep. I think I failed at this, but not miserably.
He said, "what are you thinking?" Hating that question more than anything (and being honest and vulnerable), I still answered.
"Just between you and me ... I'm hungry and sad that you're leaving."
"Come here. I'm sad too, but I'll be back."
And then we napped. Me, soft and snoring, him lightly or not at all.
I never asked him to come, and I never took him seriously. I didn't ask for any of this. As he packed up his car I bit my lip anxious for him to leave so I could hide under my blankets. He paused packing to ask himself just what he thought he was doing with his life? I wasn't the only anxious one.
Come with me he said. Maybe he meant it, maybe he said it because he knew I'd say no. Maybe that was just me thinking no one can really love me. And then we kissed like we were in a stupid movie.
I'll be back in a month, he said. Undecided whether or not this would be a good thing. He was gone almost as quickly as he arrived. I searched for traces of him, of our time together, half convinced we never existed in the same space.