March 5th, Year Three

There are ten thousand kisses to be had. No frogs turning into princes. No demons recovering their good sense, and seeking God’s forgiveness, being granted permission to return to the Heavenly realms. Only simple mortals that fill the space in between loneliness and love.

How many men have I touched lips with? Many and hundreds. Every day, someone new to experience. Just yesterday it was Kawika’s brother. The resemblance between him and a pile of excrement is uncanny. It was almost as if I was meeting a celebrity I care nothing for, and about. Giving into someone’s desire is easier than rejecting them with a firm kindness. I suppose that is why I fell into Kawika’s brother’s arms. I don’t have it in me to do the same with Michael anymore. We are different, I say. It cannot last, I continue. For everything, he has a counterargument. He is eager to learn new things, he says, like an excited child. I say that I do not have time to teach. He advised me to find a rich, white man to marry. His comment was met with confusion. I looked for ways to connect the dots, ultimately finding his statement to be more squiggles drawn out of a sense of defeat, rather than points that led to a great and final parting. He said something to say something. I am not sure why that came out of his mouth, or why he thinks finding a wealthy Caucasian man, with oodles of desire for me, is as easy as opening up a refrigerator.

Now, Michael knows unrequited love as I know it, and isn’t it wonderful to find common ground. Perhaps, I should take him out to dinner with my eighty dollar paycheck. A woman can get used to this financial abundance. I would be wise to invest in the stock market with my riches, or in a tap dancing parrot who whistles with German solemnity.

March 5th, Year Three

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