99timesthree

she didn’t break his heart so much as show him what it meant to be in love again.

once she told him a story about a white knight and a princess that didn’t need saving. am i the knight? he asked her. no, she answered. you’re the person i’m telling the story to.

stay, he asked her, not meaning forever.

you’re so beautiful, she said, you’re so beautiful. he closed his eyes and whispered to himself, i know.

she made no mention of recent events, and how he might be the force behind them.

if you had me you wouldn’t want me, he said. try me, she said. he smiled. i already have.

he imagined holding her wrists and not letting go until he was done.

she calls, only to know that he is there, and it pleases him.

when he told her that he needed her, he meant that he needed her to desire him.

what you lack in experience, he grinned menacingly, you can make up for with enthusiasm.

he explained himself to her. not through what he said, but by what he refused to admit.

she reminded him of a place that he was almost sure he would never see again.

she was not foolish enough to attempt to save him from himself, despite his obvious need for grace.

do you practice that smile of yours? he asked. which one? she smiled back.

you’ll never know me well enough to know what it is that i really need, she wanted to say.

he watches her apply, wipe off, and reapply her lipstick yet again, and licks his lips at her compulsion.

i just want to say thanks, she said. for me just being me? he asked. no, she replied, for not mussing my hair.

she asked for more, but she wouldn’t take what he had to offer.

was it good for you? he asked. yes, she said. et tu?

i’m not sure you’ve turned out to be the man that i thought i was falling in love with, she said, but you do have your moments.

stop thinking, he said. you stop thinking i’m thinking about you, she replied.

she was unwilling to substitute fascination for trust, or beauty for sincerity.

she brought her lips to his, then curled them into a mocking smile.

you used me, she told him, and then laughed at her assertion.

her face was made more beautiful by wisps of hair which he would brush from her cheek.

they held each other, dreaming together, but their dreams were not shared.

she walked in on him reading her journal. what are you doing? she asked. listening to you, he replied.

i don’t like that one at all, she said. if a guy said that to me, she said, i’d hit him.

she wanted answers to questions he did not understand.

it’s not me, it’s the clothes, he said. does it really matter? she asked.

i think i love you, he said. is that what you think, she said.

she wondered why the shortest possible distance between him and his dreams was straight through her.

he was all surfeit and surface; she was all reason and reflection.

i want to be in love with someone like you, he said, holding her closely, and laughing.

it’s all tricks and mirrors, he said, and then one day you disappear in a puff of smoke.

she told him that she wanted him to leave but forgot to mention when she expected him to return.

she knew him because she knew his failings.

as she reddened her cheek she wondered if he’d bother to shave, or cut his fingernails.

just because you can’t love yourself, she said, doesn’t mean you shouldn’t love me.

at the point she understood his motives she no longer understood her own.

he flinched, then looked away from her. they’re just words, he said.

she wanted to know his sadness, but could only touch his tears.

i love you now more than ever, he said. what are you trying to say? she asked.

each time, they acted as if the ending were near, forgetting that it was already over.

she stopped longing for him when she stopped belonging to him.

you’re always clinging to clichés, she said. that may be so, he said, but you have to admit, it’s better than talking in riddles.

she saw, in the distance, a place where she didn’t hurt. but she couldn’t tell whether she was looking ahead, or behind.

don’t worry. we’ll still be friends, he said, even after you don’t want to talk to me anymore.

you’re just like bubblegum, she said. how so? he asked. i’m so tired of spelling everything out for you, she said back.

when he told her he had waited too long it was then that she knew that she loved him.

she opened her eyes and saw him next to her. if only for a moment.

(it’s not the way you toy with my affections), he said. when did you learn to speak in parentheses? she asked.

she would close her eyes and imagine herself as someone else, someone who possessed him.

they would read the personals together, feigning humor, making mental notes.

she kept the love letters he had sent her, to help mark the passage of time.

why do you always have to find something to criticize? he asked. it’s one big house of cards as it is.

she forgot that the only way to love him was to make him fall in love with her.

it’s as if we were interrupted at some point, she said, and then we never quite got back around to finishing our story.

she reached out to hold his hand, but touched only air and sky.

i was so wrong, he said. that doesn’t mean that now you’re right, she said.

avalanche, she said to herself, using a secret language that only she and he understood.

he stole her heart, and kept it in a box, by the bed. she found it, one day, and asked him what it was. oh nothing, he replied.

you’re not like her, he told her. that’s right, she said, i’m still here.

you think i like this? he asked. i don’t think you know anything else, she said.

do you love me? he asked. i’m not going to write a song about it, if that’s what you mean, she said.

he thought of the special face she made only for him, and all the others.

i don’t know how i could live without you, she swore to him, on a stack of travel brochures.

she almost believed it all, until he told her that he believed in her.

the world may not revolve around me, he said, but i could go supernova at any moment.

i can forgive you for being unfaithful, she said, but not for being indiscreet.

the present is just so many possible futures, waiting all together, in a crowded room, she told him, as she moved away.

because he reminded me of someone i used to be, she told him.

she wasn’t able to forgive him for what he hadn’t done.

you’re the one with the steering wheel, she said. i’ve just got the pedals.

sometimes, you make me feel like christmas, she said. and other times? he asked. the rest of the time, she said, i remember how you forgot my birthday.

do you ever wonder if we’d be more in love if we’d never had sex? he asked her. no, she said, of course we’d be.

i suppose i should have known that when you told me you needed your space that you’d find it in somebody else’s closet, he said.

she gave of herself once more, to show him how cruel he could be.

he realized he had gotten old when sleep seemed more important than making things right.

she never knew what it was that brought him back to her, or if she had anything to do with it.

tell me about him, he said. in a lot of ways, she said, he reminds me of you.

if you always knew how it would end, she said, you might have at least saved us both the trouble.

if you’re very quiet, you can sometimes hear the stars, she said. you’re not listening to the sighs of stars, he whispered, but to the impossibility of desire.

is he going to take the place of me? he asked. don’t flatter yourself, she said.

you’ve made all those promises before, she said. the least you could do is come up with some new ones.

can we role-play? she asked. who do you want to be? he asked. i’ll be her, she said, and you’ll be you.

he never knew when to stop, she said, but i suppose that was part of his charm.

we could try something new, she said. i thought you already were, he said. what was his name, again?

he couldn’t love her, not even enough to stay away.

sometimes, it feels as if we’re repeating the same mistakes only to forget the ones we’ve already made, she said.

the women on television never wear mismatched underwear, he said. yes they do, she told him, but they’re often talking, in those scenes.

alone, she thinks of his touch, but then remembers how he would only fill her with emptiness.

all of my thoughts are of you, he said, and of the way you would hurt me time and again.

when i try to remember what we had, he said, all i can really remember is what we wanted.

i don’t really see how your need for closure necessarily entails fucking me one last time, she said.

there’s nothing left, is there, she said. i think there’s a pop-tart in the cupboard, he said.

you’ve found the right words, she said, it’s just that you never quite discovered the right order.

you could stop, she said. and do what? he asked. something else, she said. he threw up his arms. that’s exactly what i was doing before i started doing this, he said.

i still love you, he said, to no one.

to think the last we spoke we couldn’t have been more in love, she sighed. i was beginning to think we just couldn’t have been, he replied.

so you still wear the watch i gave you, he half-asked. it’s a beautiful watch, she said, especially now that it keeps track of the time that we’ve been apart.

if i could just tell you how i really feel, it would be so easy, he said. if we admitted how we really felt, she said, it would be impossible.

sometimes, i really wish you were a nice guy, she said. that’s funny, he said, i often wish you had a great personality.

did you miss me? she asked. yes, he said, but only the parts of you that i cared to remember.

have you ever considered doing to me what you do to a pint of ben & jerry’s? she asked.

it was a romance all in whispers slight enough to catch on the wind and float back to him in the most unexpected moments.

what makes you think you can come back around and everything will be just the way it was? she exclaimed. he grinned. i think i’ll go with the fact that you’re yelling already.

she imagined how it would feel for him to cover her in sweat and saliva and regret.

i don’t want you to look, she said. but you’re already perfect in my imagination, he said, and every flaw only makes you more you.

we always watched the shows you wanted to watch, he said. those were the best ones, she nodded in reply.

their time was a succession of borrowed words and stolen moments.

no, it’s not that you never listened, she said. it’s that you never knew what to listen for.

i once called him by your name, she said. and? he asked. and now i’m with my sweetheart, she said.

i dreamed i’d be what you dream about, he confessed, so how did i become what you get when you tell that dream to someone else later?

it doesn’t matter what words you say, she said, because here, now, it all means i love you.

she caught her breath, then waited for a moment that never came.

they fashioned their own truth out of half-remembered melodies and half-forgotten memories and whatever else they found lying around.

i once imagined you to be the most beautiful thing in the world, he said, but now i know you to be.

it was easier to be afraid of you, she said, than to fear the person i became when you were near.

i never stopped dreaming about you, he said. she sighed and shook her head. you never stopped dreaming about the girl you used to know.

he closed his eyes to hide the pools of pleading. she whispered in his ear: i want you to.

we can’t hold hands, she told him. people are jealous enough as it is.

no, i think about you all the time, she said, just mostly as a mistake.

he paid for sins he lacked the courage to commit.

when i told you i loved you, she said, it was more trial balloon than statement of fact.

it could be worse, she said, you could be me.

she said she didn’t know and then he showed her and she never quite forgave him for that.

he’s not as beautiful as me, he said, he’s not as broken as me.

she was all lips and tongue and teeth as she told him what he didn’t want to hear.

is it because you fear it won’t be the same? he asked her. no, she said, it’s because i know it always will be.

you need to let yourself hurt me, she told him, hoping he’d put an end to the pain.

she kept his promises on 3x5 note cards because she felt someone should.

our moment may have passed, he whispered, but our time is yet to come.

he took her to a place she wasn’t yet ready to go and realized later when she went there next it wouldn’t be with him.

she put her hand to his mouth. i like this one, so don’t go telling me it’s about breaking up or jacking off or shooting up, she said, as she started humming along.

can’t we just pretend? he asked. we could, she said, but if you’re going to pretend, you can probably get along fine without me.

she didn’t love him quite as much as chocolate but then that was a pretty high standard for anyone to measure up to.

i’m sorry, he said, it’s that i’m just so much better at apologies than i am reasons.

i remember when we used to tell each other every little thing, she said. i remember when we could say everything in just a wink and a smile, he replied.

you never really gave us a chance, he said to her softly. are chances given or are they taken? she asked.

i always thought you’d find a nice girl one day, she told him. i thought so too, he said, and then i found you.

he was tortured by memories of what might have been.

you’re the one i’m smiling for, she said, even if you’re not the one who’s there.

why does everybody but you know that you’re in love with me? he asked. why do you think any opinion but mine matters, she said.

please, she said, even though she was asking for something else.

nothing’s the same without you, he said. i hope everything’s better, she said. it isn’t better or worse, he said, it just isn’t the same.

you’re out of focus, he said, looking down at the screen. it’s just one big blur when i’m around you, she laughed.

what do you love about me most? she asked. your obvious need for validation, he said.

imagine, she said, as they stared into a trembling night, somewhere out there is a parallel universe in which you’re still in love with me.

when i look at you, i see the person i want you to be, she said, meaning someone else altogether.

oh, i know you’re right, she laughed. i just love that look on your face when you pretend to think that it doesn’t matter.

he brushed the sand away. their eyes met and they saw something more, but only for an instant.

coffee youtube monkey kung fu, she said, more or less, and some other shit too, but he wasn’t really listening.

her whispers were like rumors of a far-off place he could never visit but would forever haunt his dreams.

he left love poems for her, here and there, that were more like to-do lists, but she had a good imagination.

why me? she asked. because us, he answered, matter-of-factly.

remember when i’d cry and wouldn’t say why? she asked. yes? he replied. good times, good times, she said.

she used to tell him you take that back to compliments and kisses but he was never quite sure why or how.

wherever i go, i know you’ll never be far from me, she said in the most resigned sort of way.

his days became months and then years but they never stopped being made up of each minute spent without her.

why don’t we have a song? she asked. because that’s just where it starts, he said, then before we know it, we’ve got friends neither one of us likes and arguments that aren’t worth fighting.

she once lived in a world where she was all passivity and then he tore it apart and told her to be thankful.

our moment kept slipping away, he reminisced, until it was irretrievably lost to unencumbered time.

why not her? she asked. oh, she’d be perfect, he said, if you could somehow make her you.

she laughed, and then it was quiet. nothing to say? she asked. trying on words for size, he answered.

you’re cheating, she said. you promised you’d never say you loved me and then you keep telling me exactly that with your eyes.

i always wanted a love that knows no bounds, she said, but i’m learning to live with one that respects no boundaries.

because i know he’ll never leave me, she told him, as if it meant something more than it did.

maybe we just went too far too soon, he mused. funny, she said, i don’t remember us going anywhere at all.

she gave up trying to recapture something they never had.

he blurred her future and confused her past and after all the therapy she could only ever be sure of right now.

was she in love with you? she asked. just enough not to tell me, he said.

they protected one another through crisis after crisis of their own making.

you’ll always be my favorite mistake, he whispered, holding her tightly.

i’m sure we were meant to be something, she said, just not this.

she told him she prayed for him every day and he knew what that meant but pretended to be thankful anyway.

it’s not what we’ve done, she said, it’s what you did to me.

he knew he was better off without her but he was a completist and she was an important part of the collection.

it’s ok, she would tell herself, again and again, but only when it really wasn’t.

you know how sometimes you really want something and then you finally get it but then it doesn’t turn out as you imagined? she asked him with a sigh. you’re one of those things.

he heard her voice echo in the smallest moments and places even though she had long since gone.

you realize you’re not in the least bit funny, she said, laughing hysterically.

remember when we thought it would never end? he asked. i do, she said, and then i had the courage to say no.

i’m all alone, he wept. you’ll never be alone, she said reassuringly, you’ll always have your thoughts of me.

you always knew exactly what to say, she said, but you never really knew who to say it to.

he knew she didn’t call, text, message, friend, or follow him, but he couldn’t help but think she thought of him and wondered if it was with longing or trepidation.

you don’t get it, she said. what made us so perfect was that we were never meant for forever.

if you could just shut up for one second, she said, i want us to share a moment together.

i’m sorry we never had a fairy tale ending, he said. don’t apologize, she said, an ending was enough.

she discovered she was someone other than who he had led her to believe she was.

they told him to get rid of anything that would be a reminder of her but he didn’t know what to do about the complete emptiness and deafening silence.

there was a time when i thought saying the right words was some kind of superpower, he said, but then i realized meaning them was the real trick.

he inspired her to live a better life — a life without him.

i don’t want you to keep your promises, she said. i just want you to keep away.

they sat in silence, each waiting for something outside themselves.

he watched himself cling to her and knew it would be the last time because he refused to let go.

she left him with memories that were not his own and a future that he would forever wish weren’t only his.

you don’t exist, do you? he asked. i suppose i don’t, she half-whispered, not for you.

will there be more? she asked. and can they be good this time?

they were no romeo and juliet, but then they were willing to settle for a little less star-crossed and a lot less dead.

he left behind little things without meaning, knowing she’d do the rest.

she was a southbound train hurtling down the track at 80mph and he was never very good at word problems.

she understood that love wasn’t fair but didn’t understand why he couldn’t be.

i want you, he told her, but i haven’t earned it yet. i haven’t yet earned you.

she told him what her tattoos meant but he read them as ‘contents under pressure’ and ‘handle with care’ regardless.

even his flirting was ironic.

she wanted to be #grateful and #blessed like the others but her feelings never seemed to come prepended with hashtags.

i have come here to chew bubblegum and be adorable, she said. do you have any bubblegum?

she described heaven to him and it sounded like a nice place but then she explained that it was her heaven and he’d need to make his own.

don’t fall for me, he’d say, pleadingly, now and again, but she never did take the hint.

it was easy to see that they were more than friends and difficult to understand exactly how that worked.

he took her by the hand and led her away from herself.

she brought him a latte and her heart but chances are he didn’t know about the heart.

could you not share that one? she asked. there are some things i want just for us.

he only ever answered the questions he wanted to answer which made every conversation a lot like playing russian roulette.

i know what you want, she said with a wink, but you’ll have to settle for me.

she thanked him, smiled, and never wore it again.

he wanted to tell her things he shouldn’t just to know that she would listen.

am i your one and only? he asked. you’re my one and only you, she said.

i could say the same words to anyone else, he said, but they wouldn’t mean half of what they do when i tell them to you.

she thought about making charts and graphs but there was really no convincing herself that she didn’t love him.

everything goes better with a little narration he said he said.

she wanted to hold on and never ever let go but she also really wanted to use the bathroom.

it wasn’t his best, but it was probably all she could reasonably expect given the realities of the situation.

fuck you, she said, in the most affectionate way.

you’re very hard to ignore, she said, especially when you’re doing nothing to draw attention to yourself.

loving him made no sense, but neither did anything else.

careful now, she said, i might become addicted.

he thought about being honest with her, but then he thought about a lot of things.

she whispered her willingness and wondered if he would.

he wanted to tell her he loved her but that wasn’t the word for it at all.

she had a lot of hopes and dreams she stopped believing in and would unload cheap to anyone who would listen.

she was always happy to be with him, up to a point.

no, no, she screamed, you threw a tantrum last time — it’s my turn to have a fit.

she was quiet. sometimes it’s my turn to speak, he said, and all i can really think to say is how much i love talking to you.

do you love me? he asked. loving you is easy, she said, it’s the liking you that i can have trouble with.

i don’t know! she exclaimed, and there was no arguing with that.

if you ever stopped running away, she said, you could run away with me.

he pressed for details that he didn’t want to know.

that’s not how it happened, she said. true, he said, but i thought we should have something worth remembering.

and then he touches her face and whispers her name and smiles because it’s a trick he learned long ago.

yes, she told him, despite sense, despite reason, despite herself.

he wanted forgiveness; she sought reparations.

i would never hurt you, he promised, not without meaning to.

you don’t blame broccoli for being broccoli, was what she said, knowing he probably didn’t like being broccoli.

all he wanted was her words, not their meaning.

when can we stop being characters in a story, she asked, and start to live our lives?

what he told her in confidence she would later use to rob him of same.

how much longer? turned out to be the wrong question.

stop listening to what i say, she said, and just hear that i’m saying it to you.

he could never stop trying to win affections that were already his.

there were days when he was the something that she never knew she always wanted. there were days when not so much.

he didn’t mind bluffing if that’s what got her off until she started acting as if it were real later.

she resented how he assumed she would always love him but understood how it might be so.

he was promising but she wanted promises.

she tied a ribbon around her wrist to remind them both that it wasn’t her. not really.

she knew he loved her and that was the problem.

don’t call me that again, she told him, and he never did, and it was never quite the same.

there would undoubtedly come the day when he wouldn’t even merit mention in her suicide note, he thought.

she knew there was another her somewhere outside of him.

i don’t know what i’m waiting for, she said, shaking her head. i only know i’m waiting, and i’ve been waiting, and i’ll be waiting.

he had to love someone, he reasoned, so might as well her.

tell me more, she said, hoping it would shut him up.

she was the type who would do just about anything if only he asked and he was the kind who wouldn’t.

he taught her nothing but she learned patience nonetheless.

if i did, he said, i’d always be thinking i stole you away from something better.

they huddled in the corner because they’d given themselves a timeout together.

you don’t have to stop, she said, i have insurance.

he loved her at her very worst but then she got better.

she thought the not knowing was the worst part and then she knew.

he reminded her what it felt like to not really be there.

loving hurt, caring hurt, and nothing else seemed to be an option.

he kept a folder of all the things he would never show her.

what she owed him was no longer hers to give.

they seemed so perfect together from far away.

every day without her he got that sinking feeling she might return.

she called him a liar and a fake and still she called him.

he never questioned that she loved him, but he often wondered why.

she knew and he knew and everybody knew and nobody knew anything.

you could have said no, she said, not that i would have listened.

she was the one who understood him and there was just no putting an end to that.

there was a time when he was the most important thing in the world to her. it was probably only several minutes, but there was a time.

she wanted to feel it whole just once before he broke it apart forever.

he was a never who became a never again.

she told him what he wanted to hear and told herself what she needed to survive.

she knew his love for her was unconditional so long as she never loved him back.

he wanted to shelter her from something other than himself.

it was easier to forgive him once she understood all the things he did to her he’d done to himself as well.

he said her name aloud, again and again, until it became a mouthful of noise and extra breath.

i wanted more, she said, not more of the same.

he suspected she’d never return but he held out hope for the return of his books.

unanswered questions became unanswered calls and then unanswered prayers.

he was ashamed to admit all the things he was proud of having done with her.

she went to him one last time, as she always would.

i care about you, and i worry about you, and it’s not wrong, he couldn’t tell her.

just the thought of her.

they shared a moment together. it wasn’t something they were very proud of, but it was theirs.