ronnie
21.10.19 | 7:19 am

some nights my french just doesn’t work as well, so we sit on the couch together, my dog in between us, and i mostly listen to you talk: you give me recommendations for what to visit, you show me pictures, you tell me about your friends who moved to la.

when you gaze out my window, you’re surprised to see the stairs leading to where you used to live so many days ago. you say you want to take a picture and send it to your old roommates, but it’s pouring down outside and you don’t want to open the window.

so i open it for you, and you take the picture quickly while the rain splashes down on my floor.

just like last time at the bar, you talk a little quickly, you get shy and look down and your face goes a shade redder. you’re sweet and you’re obviously hurting, the loss of your dad still quite fresh as you clean out his house for the last time.

i have the urge to pull you into my lap and stroke your hair and tell you i’m sorry and it’s okay.

at the bar, we got excited over the music playing over the speakers and you tapped the rhythm on my knee. but here in my apartment, we are far apart, only touching hands when we are ordering takeout indian food.

i try to keep up in french but my brain is tired, and i can feel my confidence in my language skills slipping.

but you’re kind, i can see it in your face, and when you leave, you hug me instead of kissing me on the cheeks (“here it’s three times”) and it makes me feel more comfortable.

i don’t think we’ll actually see each other again. i’ll eat your leftover biryani and probably you won’t text me again. and that’s okay.

—

i’m trying to examine what i’m doing wrong (in numerous ways, really). tonight i may drink some wine and reevaluate. but it’s 7:28am and already my brain is tired and i can hear the rain outside on my window and i know i’ll finally have to buy boots today at last.

i am going to get better.

i am going to be better.

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