Maybe This Time


Once I had a lover who played for me, in bed, on his phone, a song that was, I guess, not ‘our song’ but his song for me and our relationship. I won’t say what that song was, but it was depressing and not very optimistic. The affair ended badly, as most of them do. He never asked me what I thought our song was, or what I would have picked to summarize my own feelings. He was both kind and impenetrably self absorbed like that. I never volunteered the info, and we never spoke about it again. But if he had thought to ask, I would have picked this one. It’s an optimistic song, which makes it all the more depressing, because optimism is so often dashed to pieces. Like Sally Bowles, I sometimes get caught up in optimistic illusions that deep down I don’t truly even have faith in. Like Sally, I know I’ll always go back to criss-crossing continents; inch by inch, mile by mile and man by man.

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