There’s the one that works at a pub and tells me to come over to drink margaritas. I’ll sit there and tell him that I’ve been having a bad day but never want to talk about it, not to him at least. We talk about The Beatles, art, record stores in LA, and new jazz bars. I know he likes me. He tells me to stay positive, to find beauty in the world, to drink more whiskey. I stay there until its time to close up, he walks me to my car and I drive home. Nothing lost, nothing gained.

There’s the old fizzled romance. I bring him cupcakes and he let’s me watch ‘Cat on a Hot Tin Roof’ on his bed. We drink wine. He knows my faults and he calls me insane. He says I always leave strands of hair and cupcake frosting all over his bed. We talk about fashion, our mutual friends, food cravings, or why I’m dressed like a 5 year old. I’ll nod off and then he walks me to my car and I drive home. Nothing lost, nothing gained.

There’s the one that’s like a bad trip. I never know how I’m going to feel after I finish talking to him; completely suffocated or like walking on air. He sits with me in the car. We don’t go anywhere. He talks to me about his family life, his future, his fears, his accomplishments. He’s the only guy who’s mustered those three little words to me. I’ve known him all my life, yet everytime I meet up with him, I get knots in my belly. He doesn’t promise me anything. Unapologetic, brutally honest, and painfully unresponsive. I like that about him. It gets late. He goes back inside and I drive home. Nothing lost, nothing gained.

xoxo