I thought about his face and the way his pock-marked cheeks framed his laugh lines. I had always examined them when we kissed. My eyes glaring on the flesh covering his. I wondered what he thought of my younger, naked body pressed against him, his thighs- shaking between his arms. That grip. That grip: Intoxicating. Strong. Wrapped around me at the base of a staircase where my knees buckled after a kiss. In this moment (that moment). After (these) thoughts- I hope that you are on your way to becoming famous. Dating the woman you rightfully deserve. You are amazing. But so am I. Let's meet again sometime. I won't tell your band that you wished for them to be over so that you could pursue something new. I'll make that our secret. I like that, sometimes, you were candid with me. I won't tell anyone about how much I thought that you were the one- of one of them.
*I forgot to mention that I'm working on some drunken fictional pieces called "Inner Monologues for Men I've Loved."
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