We stood out on the porch, smoking cigarettes, far into the evening - after the children had gone to bed - after the adults had stopped paying attention. We were free to talk, like we had when we were younger. Like we would continue for years to come. It was never serious. It was never supposed to be.

You'll be leaving soon, I asked. (Yes) And you will need a friend up there, maybe? (who knows? maybe i will make friends.) You were always good at making friends. (I was always good at making trouble. you were good at making friends. this is why you want to pawn one off on me. keep an eye on me?) It's never like that, I said.

She kissed me. (of course not. i love you. even though you don't love me)

I could never love her. But, of course, I do.

We stood out on that porch until morning sun came up. We smoked until we were sick, and then we went to bed. The children made us breakfast at noon and we let them feed us too much. She left later that day.

Of course I love her, even though I cannot.