Hell, Why Not?

         A man from my past has surfaced recently.
He is trying to talk me into a casual encounter of an intimate nature.

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            Let’s be honest. I’m at least half-tempted.


            Already, I can feel how he wraps his arms low around my waist and looks at me like maybe I hold a magic key to happiness and maybe I’m holding that key between my tightly pressed lips, while he waits for me to relax and ease into him.


            I told him it would be too risky.
He might fall in love with me.


            He told me that the risk of falling is mine, and I replied,
it might be true.


            It probably is true. The risk of falling – it belongs to me.


            In the immediate,
I crave our connection.
I crave the heat we share and the strength of two souls wrapped together,
instead of only my solo one.




            It’s the


            He will leave. He always does.

He will disappear. He can’t help it.


The distance will stretch out and the loneliness will grow and that same strength of two souls will dissolve –  even to less than one – while I wait for equilibrium, bouncing around inside of me like moths near a porch light, before it returns.


That little bubble of love that I have for him will settle into my ribcage.
Along with the other little bubbles of love that reside there.
And in those beginning days of the
after, the bubbles will all be so, so heavy.

So. Heavy.


Maybe it will only take a few days for the bubbles to become soapy and floaty as they rise up into my chest full of rainbow reflections.

Or maybe it will take many days.


Despite the temptation, I’ll have to refuse him…
the heavy part of
 grows – it will take many, many days.



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