What happens next
You tell him you love him, because it is honest and true, because a world of hand-holding and inside jokes and being-togetherness waits impatiently behind a velvet curtain for him to say yes of course me too, only what he says instead is oh…thank you. You learn to laugh at your own jokes and hold your own hand, but slowly.
This morning I prepared a cup of coffee the usual way, mixing in sweet rivulets of cream and sugar. I stirred in two spoonfuls, three, even four but the inky, bitter blackness remained. When I asked about it, the coffee looked away and said “Oh, I’m sorry. Sometimes I just don’t have it in me to be exactly what you want.”