i remember the night i met you. your hair was longer, your skin only a few shades darker
than the paper i wished to sketch you upon. you wore the same boots, the same whimsical,
sarcastic half-smile. your eyes glittered in the lights strung above us, though i could never decide
what color they might be. you moved seats, one by one, every time inching closer to mine.
i was sitting cross-legged, Indian-style, paying more attention to your friend. he was singing
to me. but we talked about our names, our skin, how we both wished we might have worn something
more suited for the chill December air. your teeth were perfect, your cheeks red with the cold.
i wanted to take them between my hands and warm them. we shared a cigarette after i finished the one
your friend had given me. i watched the smoke curl into the air above you, and you caught my gaze.
my eyes darted away and i bit my lip, taking a drag. you were too old. i knew that without asking.
besides, your friend was in the next seat, whispering sweet things. i liked him, too. you had a girlfriend
and, that night, i had a boyfriend. three weeks later, i had another. your friend. that seems so long ago.
i know you better now. your beauty hasn't changed, darling. but your torment has become a thousand times stronger.