sugar twin.

I’ve been far luckier than I deserve.

It’s the truth.

I’ve held the hands of some pretty beautiful women over my lifetime. No denying that. You can’t. From Toronto through to Santa Cruz and up to Portland and over to remote parts of Wyoming, they’ve made my company and made it all that much better – by their goodness and their graciousness, I couldn’t be a luckier guy. Ask anyone, they’ll tell ya.

The way I figure it, and I really don’t try and think about it too much, why should I? But, I’m average at best, if a little charming, but average in every way, maybe even a little below average in the looks dept. but I do fine. They’re fine, I’m fine, I mean, I can’t complain. Not a bit. I’d be lying if I said I loved them all, straight lie. And I’m sure they didn’t all love me either, shit, some I would hazard a guess, didn’t even like me in the end. Maybe even the beginning. But I had a car, I could get them outta town, into other parts of the state, for weekends away or such else. When I was living in my car I lied then, a little, said my place was being fixed-up and that I’d be moving back in soon enough, and Wendy, she didn’t seem to mind that I stayed on for weeks longer than I said I would. And why should she is I was filling the fridge every week with Rolling Rock and cold cuts and bread on the counter. Maybe she knew I was lying but she never let on.

Now they’re all over this town – the women I dated and loved, with other men, some with women – I get that too. They’re living with others that treat them better than I did, gave them what they needed, at least for a while. Like a fresh set of sheets, new and it feels good to be next to them. I’d fall in love if I could. I have. Once or twice before. I fell in love, quickly, once with a girl from New York City, we were in central park. I wrote about her in a notebook. I wrote how I was gonna move from New Orleans to be with her. Move, with all my things and be there with her, getting a job somewhere – I didn’t know where but I would. She loved me too, then, for that moment anyways. I’m capable. Love. I don’t know that my heart can take it anymore.

Any way. I figure love’s like drinking. After each time we say we’ll never do it again. Fall in love. Drink that much. Never again. Never touch another drop but before we know it, we’re in love or falling for someone, often over drinks. The drinks we said we’d never have again.

I let ‘em bring and leave a toothbrush and maybe a clean t-shirt and underwear, the ones that get that close but that’s it – for now. It’s all I can take having around. The rest of their things have to stay put, where they are. Stay for a week if you want, I tell them. Stay for a year. Just leave your stuff where it is. The move out’s the hardest part.

It’s the fucking good-byes.

Fuck.