Friday, December 02, 2005


A few reckless words and suddenly you're vivid in my memory.

"I'm nostalgic..."

"Oh yeah? For what?"


So direct. More direct than you've ever been. I can't get these images out of my mind, now: the way you used to look. So thin, frail almost, but how old were you then? Fifteen, sixteen? You've grown up since then, I know that much.

I saw you, a while ago. A veneer of small talk covered, perhaps unsuccessfully, my curiosity, my frank evaluation. A definite failure to keep my mind on the conversation and my blood from rushing to my face. You teased me about that too. Evil man.

Those old memories and recent ones are combining. Dangerously. Tonight.

I shouldn't be doing this.

I can't help myself.

I'm wondering whether you're as good as you claimed to be. Whether I could satisfy you. If it would be the bright, brilliant, consuming fire I've long dreamed it would be, or would it flare and sputter and go out as I've always feared?

Do I even want to find out?


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