you guys even a little impressed? Aw, forget it. Who needs ya, just find some new I’ll wingmen. Ones that all sappy two don’t get drinks in!” do that I said. see you at “You Fred,” “G’night guys, work.” a cab Fred, I wanna have to pretend to be sad at your “G’night. Call don’t funeral.” yeah, be late tomorrow, have your asses on a “Yeah whatever. Don’t or I’ll pike.” I started walking home. It was about thirty minutes on foot, but the night was cool and I dumb enough to try to drive it. Besides, the sky was clear, and one of those wasn’t reverse-crescent moons was shining down in that way that made everything look like it was made of silver, and it got me thinking about what all been saying. I got to we’d thinking about Fred and Donna and her fiancé, I thought about the waitress and the cleaning lady and Henry, I thought about myself and Sarah and the past seventeen years. I thought and I thought, and when I finally I got home my feet were so heavy from carrying all those thoughts that I collapsed on the porch steps. I focused on my breathing. If I exhaled from my stomach instead of my chest, I could make a cloud of stale mist billow from my mouth. It rose up in the flickering yellow of the porch light, and I swiped a hand through it. I through the fog, couldn’t see couldn’t think through it. I looked up at the moon and thought about how to ask her what I wanted to ask her. It was one of those questions you know all the way to the core of your being, but put into words. You know the kind. You know it so well yourself can’t that you imagine how to tell it to someone, like what water tastes like or what blue can’t looks like. I wanted to go inside where it was warm and familiar, I really did, but it just seem right somehow. Sarah was in there, and the girls were too, and I wanted to didn’t
you guys even a little impressed? Aw, forget it. Who needs ya, I’ll just find some new wingmen. Ones that don’t get all sappy two drinks in!” “You do that Fred,” I said. “G’night guys, see you at work.” “G’night. Call a cab Fred, I don’t wanna have to pretend to be sad at your funeral.” “Yeah yeah, whatever. Don’t be late tomorrow, or I’ll have your asses on a pike.” I started walking home. It was about thirty minutes on foot, but the night was cool and I wasn’t dumb enough to try to drive it. Besides, the sky was clear, and one of those reverse-crescent moons was shining down in that way that made everything look like it was made of silver, and it got me thinking about what we’d all been saying. I got to thinking about Fred and Donna and her fiancé, I thought about the waitress and the cleaning lady and Henry, I thought about myself and Sarah and the past seventeen years. I thought and I thought, and when I finally I got home my feet were so heavy from carrying all those thoughts that I collapsed on the porch steps. I focused on my breathing. If I exhaled from my stomach instead of my chest, I could make a cloud of stale mist billow from my mouth. It rose up in the flickering yellow of the porch light, and I swiped a hand through it. I couldn’t see through the fog, couldn’t think through it. I looked up at the moon and thought about how to ask her what I wanted to ask her. It was one of those questions you know all the way to the core of your being, but can’t put into words. You know the kind. You know it so well yourself that you can’t imagine how to tell it to someone, like what water tastes like or what blue looks like. I wanted to go inside where it was warm and familiar, I really did, but it just didn’t seem right somehow. Sarah was in there, and the girls were too, and I wanted to
FINAL-What-We-Mean-When-We-Say-_Love_.docx