“You really liked her, huh?”
I ignored the question, so she asked it again.
“Yes.” I said. I didn’t like the way my voice sounded when I did; that subtle wavering that was deafening to me as much as it was telling.
“And?” She asked again.
“And….that’s it. I’m over it.”
“Liar.”
I smiled. “If I keep telling myself that one day I will believe it.”
“And when might that be?”
“Tomorrow. And if not then the next day. Or the next.”
“Good luck with that.” She said. Reading it, you would think it was a flippant comment. When she said it though….it wasn’t sarcasm. It was acknowledgement of something she knew. Something beyond me, her and the conversation we were having. Another dialogue was going on in her head.
“Here’s to tomorrow. Fuck pain. Fuck sorrow. Fuck it.” I drank the rest of my beer and threw the bottle over my shoulder. It smashed against the brick wall. “I allow myself one dramatic testosterone laden incident a day.”
“Works for me.” She said. She drained her beer and raised her arm like she was going to throw it. She stopped suddenly, did a spin and set the bottle down gently.
Yes. We were buzzed. It was official now.




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