This is not a love story.

To a man whom I know has never once heard of Okkervil River because he would have played them for me until three years later I wished them all dead

A man asked me to a party yesterday and so I went. We drank lots of rum and had lots of fun and of all our conversations, we never once mentioned love, and that was really okay with me.

We went to coffee and the cake was sweet and I drank tea even though I know I once told you a long time ago I hated it. I didn’t hate it. It was okay.

And then when everything was going fine but Big Decision time was upon us, he smiled or at least I think he did (the lights around us were awfully dim), he asked me if I’d like to go home with him, and then I did.

In bed the next morning, we neglected all we had to do that day to smoke cigarettes and talk about work and we said neither of us ever wanted to get married and we decided then and there that that, more than anything else, was perfectly okay.

I wanted to write a letter to you telling you I’d met somebody new and knew you’d never read it. I listened to a song instead, a song I know you haven’t heard and that I wanted to tell you about because I thought it might mean a lot to you, but I didn’t, and it won’t. It will mean a lot to me, some time. Then again maybe it won’t. Maybe it won’t. That’s okay, I think. I didn’t used to think so, but now I do.


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