january 8th 2024

it was five degrees below zero. administration urged us with emergency alerts to stay in our residential buildings. i took to boylston to make the two-minute migration to yours, protected by nothing but lingerie i was passing off as a dress and my shoddy blue jacket, unzipped. i arrived at the suite and we moved posters around—the green night, jaws 2. we set up the projector and cast neon genesis evangelion, muted, on loop, against the hard plastic curtains. we arranged the vodka and seltzers esme bought from wild duck with my parent’s donation on the countertop. we had far more than we would need. you said, we’re so good, we’re the best we’ve ever been. your head on my shoulder, your hands mindlessly in my hair, your palm mindfully on my back. is this alright? we stopped by the elevator. i said: i have to tell you something, but i think we should wait until the party is over. you said, as i remember: is it friendship-breaking? i hesitated. you knew. 

i cannot rewrite the following scene in detail. i have written it once, from your perspective, not my own. i could not hardly stomach it. well, i confessed my reckless truth. and you didn’t say anything for a while, but then you admitted something i will never lose: you said, you’re all i’ve ever wanted. and i knew, as i had known every time you’d ever touched me, from the animal need in your hungry eyes studying my neck. all you’ve ever wanted, and at last i wanted, too. here i was, your willing angel. 

we returned to the party. no one else came. for a while i propped against the front door, peering out the spyglass. as i stood there, uneasy, you presented me a rose—dried and crumbling apart, the stem bent in half and stuffed into a bulldog clip. you tried to kiss me by the sink but you said, we shouldn’t, not until it’s right. for hours i took intermittent shots until my visual clarity checked out, and everyone i loved in this godforsaken city was together, and you laid on me, and eventually i laid on you, once i could no longer keep myself upright. in that night you were gentle. it was not yet my birthday, and still it was the very best i ever had. 

at three, everyone had gone to sleep, as we should have done, but i could not leave you. our tradition, in order to speak privately without risking the drift of our voices, was to pass my phone between us. 

you said: 

i’m a bad person and it’s because i don’t want to stop seeing her even though i haven’t stopped thinking about kissing you all night

i said: 

i want you to see her because she makes you happy, but you know how i feel, and that doesn’t negate that

you said: i’m in love with you, but that’s gross

i said: i promise it’s all going to be okay

you turned to me. i don’t remember this part well. you prepared to kiss me, the right way—hands poised on my face, your heavy eyes steady on mine—and then you did not. 

you kissed my cheeks, and i kissed your crown. and then we went to sleep. 

i am only yours in your silent dream. we will never have it.