Ipso Facto

I watched him, watching me, as the L train pulled away.

I had had too much to drink. I had eaten half a salad, had wobbled in unfamiliar heels down Sixth Avenue, and had allowed him to press me up against the storefront to kiss me while I, pink as a radish, panicked.

twomblyHe waved, slightly.

Then the L took off, rushing me far away, back toward to East Village, back to the sopping wet leaves ground into the midnight pavement. I panicked. I called someone else, someone from my past, someone from April, May and June. I all but begged him to leave Brooklyn and crawl into bed with me.

He showed up an hour later and put his arms around me. It was not what I needed, but it was what I wanted, wasn’t it? My heart was a Cy Twombly, blown up and scribbled on with red wine magic marker.

His hands around me, his stubble scratched into my upper lip, I sat up in the dark while he slept. He had, ipso facto, returned. I had just regressed.


3 responses to “Ipso Facto

  1. If you wanted it, you needed it.

  2. Generally a bad idea.

  3. Pingback: Serialsly « Subway Philosophy

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