Last Night

“I don’t want to be friends,” I texted him.

“Why not?”

“Because I like you too much to want to be your friend.”


“I really, really like you, and it would be easier for me if we just weren’t friends. I don’t really want to see you.”

“Oh. OK.”




“I was trying to be noble. I don’t want to fight with my brother over a girl.”

“I understand.”

“But you’re not a girl.”


“You’re you.”


“I don’t know what to do.”

“You already told me what you were doing. You’re moving to Portland. We’re going to be not-friends.”

“The decision was tolerable when I thought I’d be able to hang out with you now and again, even if you were with someone else.”

“You don’t even know how I feel about him.”

“He told me. You spent the night.”

“Ian! No! Not like that! Is that…is that what this was about?”



“I don’t really want to text with you any more.”

“Oh. OK.”

“I’m coming over to your apartment.”


And he did.

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