“I can’t do This”, I said closing my eyes and shaking the vision of her from my minds view.
She grasped the lapels of my fall coat and fell into me, all cotton sweater soft, her thighs encased in winter tights, parting my legs as her tongue parted my lips. The warmth of her lips and our escaping breathes creating a bit of steam about us. Indian summer gave way to winter chill at sundown; This was many hours after that.
“I …. I can’t do This.” I reiterated, my mouth leaving hers slowly but keeping the taste of Jager bombs and menthol lights.
“Feels like yer lying to me” she said wiggling herself tighter between my legs, pressing herself tightly against me.
“Oh, I could do That, the drunken hurried half stager home. Stopping to kiss and fondle along the way. Pulling you to me, pulling at each others clothes upon the stoop, half dressed halfway down the hall, and all entangled in tweed, in suede, watching the autumnal colors of our clothes drop to the floor like leaves. Uncertain if I even closed the front door let alone locked it. And those less hurried moments that come after, with me on top of you.”
“Me on top of you”, she interrupted.
“Yeah, like that … the two of us needing to take care of our own needs … using one another, to feel better about ourselves. Slowly erasing our past, by prolonging our present. To feel needed, necessary, and desired. I could do That, I Should do That, desperately so – With you, absolutely you, Only you.”
“That I could do. But not This … this pretending that I want merely That. Ambivalent and strong as you place your tights in your purse Saying it was ‘fun’ …”
“God it would be fun, it was always fun.”
“Yeah, an absolute blast watching you walk out the door, pausing for a moment to figure out the lock. All the while thinking ‘stay, come back to bed, curl into me, let me caress your back and whisper sweet everythings into your ear. Let’s wake up late; wake up slowly, in one anothers arms. There’s nothing in the fridge, and you owe me pancakes anyhow. Let’s go out, to whichever restaurant is furthest, the longest walk, uncaring if we are seen by people that never mattered to me anyhow. Buger Thing, where I will place a paper crown upon your head; Smiling at you while the script of the Pauper, the Princess, and the Paper crown plays out inside my head. Let’s make the looong slow walk to wherever you parked your car. There’s no walk of shame to a walk that’s taken hand in hand. As long as your hand occupies mine, for however long that lasts. If we can do That then I can do This.”
“that sounds nice, it really does.”
“But” already completing her next sentence in my mind.
“but, I can’t do That.”
“which is why I can’t do This.”

I woke up hungry this morning and found it warmer outside than anticipated this time of year. I went to Burger thing, and got my number 7 meal to go and took my Croissamich for a wonderful fall walk …..
And held your memory tightly in my other hand throughout.

Love, Inks