Faces of people I know intimately well.

“ This is the way the world ends. This is the way the world ends. Not with a bang but with a wimper.” — TS Eliot

I dated you when we both thought it was cooled you worked at Urban Outfitters. (Was anyone ever so young?)

I dated you when I wrote an essay, under your name, about a Michael Crichton obsessed college girl and submitted it as a joke —

I dated you when we snuck up the fire escape of some ritzy apartment in Kansas City to take pictures at night. You’re wearing a cute dress in the photo.

I dated you when I won that essay contest and you had to give a speech about it. You stood up there, in front of all those people, and gave a speech about an essay you did not write. For that, I let you keep the prize money. But maybe I didn’t have a choice. After all your name was on the cheque.

I also loved you.

I dated you when we went to Chicago. Your first big city.

I dated you when we went to Colorado. My first lesson with mountains.

I dated you while we listened to This American Life and drove through small towns and state lines. You and I traveled a lot together. We traveled well together.

I dated you when I lived in four different apartments and you lived in three.

I dated you long enough for your family to wonder if we would get married— In honesty, that didn’t really take long.

I dated you long enough to be at your dad’s wedding… and his divorce.

I dated you long enough for my family to wonder if we would get married —

That is rare.

I dated you when I was working full-time at the University and you and I would get lunch together on Massachusetts street. (You were kind; right up until the end you would still order for me when I was running late.)

But I was kind too. I gave you a key to my car during our entire relationship and you drove it everywhere.

We fought, but we never yelled at each other. We argued, but we were never cruel.

Maybe toward the end things were a bit cruel. You started to lie and I started to mistrust you.

But I know what you would say... You would say, “I started to misunderstand you.”

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

I wonder what will become of you. You could leave our town — I know you have it in you. Or you may not. Your family’s inertia is against you.

I left our town quickly. I bet it surprised you. I was worried I would see you on the street.

But now I live in New York City and I no longer worry about that.

I dated you when —