The girl sits across from the boy at the restaurant and thinks about not drinking, not tonight. But his order always comes first and it’s always a beer, with a shot on the side. And it’s ok because it’s just a beer, a very large mug of beer, the glass as big as his forearm. Which is normal in the city, she thinks, so that’s what it is. Normal. So she orders a cocktail too, accepts the other couple of shots he orders as they sit, enjoys the moment that he is comfortable. He does not seem drunk, not at all, not even after 4 more shots. Not even after buying 3 more mini’s for later. He is flirty and laughs at her jokes more, so she does the same thing, except that she does get drunk. And when she gets drunk, she cries. Becomes childish, paranoid. Catastrophizes. She thinks (more so, hopes) when she reflects on this time that maybe he was ashamed of this influence. Perhaps that is why he kept her at a distance, even with 1500 miles already between them. She does not blame him.
In the late hours, the girl and the boy text until they fall asleep. Things that are a secret. Things that feel alluring & precious. This is ok, because they are friends and there is almost an unspoken language between them. An inside joke that they are the same person in different fonts. Like they were meant to know each other. They both agree on this complicated fact. Two people lost in a story with separate translations. So it’s almost inevitable that the girl holds the feelings close to her heart. Confused, in love, guilty. She was destined to be a lover, this is part of the gig. So she confesses this to him and understandably, he is afraid. He is guilty. He puts her at a distance, even with two people already between them. She does not blame him.
It is hard to fathom a love in two parts. The dichotomy of heartbreak & beauty in both. The girl is not embarrassed or regretful. She holds onto love and all it leaves behind.