Him

On September ninth it rained all day in the backseat of your car at a dilapidated fuel station. I said I wish I’d never let you in. I couldn’t read your face in the rear view mirror. It was dusted, and my eyes were glazed over anyway. I am so stubborn and so are you. We didn’t spare each other’s feelings outside your car that night. I half-expected you to run after me when I said I was leaving but you were too polite and did what I told you to and so you left me alone. I used to enjoy the rain but now it reminds me of you, like so many other things, like everything. September ninth you said you were leaving. And I was leaving too. Like intersecting lines we were entangled for a moment only to shoot off in different directions and leave each other forever. There was no magical reunion complete with a kiss in the rain. All I had to show for my lack of courage, for my awkward exchanges and unvoiced feelings, was a broken heart and wet socks. I hadn’t cried since August eighth the year previous. That night the leaking of my eye sockets rivalled the rain. And that’s how I knew I’d messed it up with you.