sometimes

it has been of some consolation that any attempt to write about the events which have unfolded over the past two years of my life has been not only a pleasurable experience but also a very natural and simple one.

a former lover approached my basement bedroom window this evening in the hopes i wouldn’t notice them leaving behind spare ink for my fountain pen. as it happens, i did notice, and i reminded them that the window to my bedroom wouldn’t open wide enough for me to retrieve anything left outside.

this past love of mine occupies a very peculiar spot for me: neither are they the object of any lingering unrelenting affection nor are they the cause of any pain, sadness, or frustration. truly, most of what i feel now is based in self-reflection. i was taken aback by the sight of them but it was not hurtful or stressful.

i left my apartment building through the front door and they presumed i would walk with them for some time. this was correct.

previously we had spoken about staying friends after this. now, though, the consensus seems to be that it may not be worth the effort. it’s not the case that the two of us find it difficult to interact with one another on account of our history; in fact, such a history is what facilitates any interaction so far as i can discern. no, a formal platonic relationship between us seems unlikely because it isn’t the natural conclusion for this situation that i had believed it may be. they suit my life better as a kind, intermittent acquaintance i do not actively seek out.

later, when they stood by me as i sat in the doorway of my apartment building, through the mid july evening mosquitoes and hyper-acoustic hums of streetlamps i couldn’t find a thing to say. and so they left.

“hey,” they called back halfway down the block; “i hope you miss me sometimes!”

“i do,” i called from the doorway. i couldn’t discern then whether it had been loud enough for them to hear. scratching a bug bite on my left forearm, i peered my head around the corner to see if they were within earshot. i watched them walk away, and then i was alone on west hill avenue. and so i turned around and went down the stairs into my basement apartment, where i live, without exception, alone. “sometimes.”