I asked “When you told your friends you don’t love me anymore, how did they feel?” and you said “Not surprised.”
Three days later you posted a photo and your friends were like “You’ve never looked happier!!!” and they were right.
My friends don’t ask me where you are anymore because they know I don’t know.
I guess we were ships crashing in the night.
So now my memory of you is like money in a glass case in the sea: beautiful, untouchable, distorted, seductive, sinking. …
The other day, a fellow mom brought her girls over for a playdate. Our kids tore around the yard and hollered at us about unfair sharing practices and picked their noses and chased each other and gathered sticks and sweated and giggled and cried. They had a great time. Meanwhile, this mom and I sat at my patio table and talked about how we miss having friends.
Notice I referred to this woman as a “fellow mom,” not “a friend.” And notice how we both confessed to each other that we didn’t have friends. There was a pause…
My first days in Japan were a whirl of novel sensations and intense exchanges. I shared music over dinner with the owner of a vintage record store. I drank a ninety-cent, 4.5 ounce can of Asahi beer in three sips. I stumbled on an old temple in residential Ikebukuro, and the sense that centuries of visitors had walked its tree-lined entrance brought me to tears. At a small eel restaurant filled with cigarette smoke, I drank sake with a couple who complimented me on my choice of food. “You know Harley Davidson?” the man said, handing me a…
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