The next morning, I found the note written on a crumpled brown paper bag tucked on my windshield. It read:
“I had so much fun falling in love with you, evidently it didn’t take.”
I met a playboy. Another one.
He whispered poetry – Keats – in my ear. He gazed into my eyes. He took my wrist and softly traced a heart in my open palm. He told me his heart was beating like the wings of a silver moth against a windowpane.
Softly and slowly, he said I was the incandescent light he wished to be near. Always.
He held my hand, in both his hands, and said my aura was silver with golden hues of pink reverberating like an explosion of tiny shooting stars.
He said he could imagine waking up with me day after day, and that his life would only be complete if I were in his life.
Then he patted his pockets, looked to the sky, rolled his eyes and said, “Oh my. I seem to have forgotten my wallet…. Darling, would you mind paying for the champagne?”
“The path of least resistance is the path of the loser.”In