Tacked awkwardly onto the end of a long-unopened file, I just stumbled upon the first work of fiction I ever intended to write. I was twenty-one. It’s been a decade. I’m someone that twenty-one-year-old wouldn’t recognize; I might be someone he wouldn’t like. I know I wouldn’t care for him—I didn’t like . . . → Read More: Negative Space
Post-Script: A rough draft of this, I believe, was the first time I played the Ten Sentences game with myself. It’s a faithful rendering of what was, in reality, one of the most existentially depressing, grotesque, and sorry ordeals I’ve ever seen. Though over my years of recreational self-medication I so commonly went to work . . . → Read More: Post-Script: The Mating Game
The final assay in this escapade of ten-sentence recollections, I ended up with this woman for a couple of years. After everything, I remain perpetually perplexed as to what it was, in the beginning (months before this story), that she saw in me.
I’m not sorry this relationship ended. I am sorry that I won’t get to have this wedding.
Now wearing his pastel pink collar only half-popped, the last loser slouches out of the bar and, wet-lipping the cork-colored filter of a fresh-lit cigarette for which I’ve been pining . . . → Read More: 10 Sentences IX: Miss Misery
The influence of this woman on my life is ridiculously disproportionate to the duration (and perhaps even action) of our Thing, whatever it was. And in my more persistent doldrums, I sometimes wonder what would have become of us if back then I’d consented to proper medication, and kept on my person a half-milligram of . . . → Read More: 10 Sentences VIII: A Perfect Sonnet
Fun fact: This woman, in addition to the peculiar opinion that introduces the piece, used to like to play “confession” during sex. It wasn’t in any way a kinky game. In flagrante delicto one night, she asked me what the worst thing I’d ever done was and, not feeling particularly soul-searchy at that moment, . . . → Read More: 10 Sentences VII: Manufacturing Magic
Best lingering result of this relationship: Once, in bed, we had a postcoital chat about Harry Potter, which was ended when she threatened, “What if I told you I would not have sex with you again until you read a Harry Potter book?” I waited until she fell asleep, drove to the local grocery, bought The . . . → Read More: 10 Sentences VI: Do the Opposite
I was in love with this girl three years before we got together while she was dating someone else. We became best friends. Then she disappeared for years. When she reappeared, she quickly fell in love with me while I was dating someone else. The relationship with my someone else could have been . . . → Read More: 10 Sentences V: Watch the Weather Change
A woman I loved (not this one) said to me once, “You give all the wrong people second chances and sometimes don’t even finish giving the right ones a first.” Granted, this relationship was doomed from the start for a number of reasons, not least of which was simply abysmal timing, but this . . . → Read More: 10 Sentences IV: A Siren of Titan
What I find amazing is that, every few years of my adult life, I’ve discovered that the words “understand” and “love” seem to mean entirely different things. At least the flux has slowed significantly: When I was still a teenager “understand” and “love” changed every six months.