"i don't love you."

she whispered the words in my ear, the last thing i heard before i woke up this morning. she wasn't there, just a voice in my head really, but i knew the voice, knew it was her, even if the words she spoke were mine and not hers.

two nights before, i asked her if she could love me. we were drunk, and i don't remember what she said in response, but i think it was something like yes-with-a-but, which was good enough at the time. later, she asked me the same question, and i said yes.

i always have been kind of a sucker, though. well, maybe not a sucker, but my heart has never been one to dip a toe in the pool to see if the water is warm enough to jump in.

we were naked that night, naked and drunk and each of us at the mercy of our bodies and hearts, but mostly bodies. no matter what mammalian sheen of emotion and feeling coruscates on the surface, it's the deeper animal that drives the likes of we, the simple necessity of eating and sleeping and most of all fucking. but it's never that simple, and life gets in the way, and sometimes in the morning you have to rewrite the story in your head to keep yourself from going crazy.

morning wasn't so bad, small kisses and oxytocin smiles, cooking breakfast and talking about the night before, such a lovely time (and it was). i'm used to sleeping alone, and my back hurt in strange and painful ways from melding my body to hers, but i was still smiling, marveling at the tactile delight of running my fingers over smooth curvaceous skin when i woke in the night and by the light of early morning, at the surprising warmth and welcomeness of her body cuddled close up next to mine, at the way my heart burbled giddily when she flashed that crooked smile my way, love in her eyes.

for most of that day, after she left (off to the arms of another man, which i knew going in) none of it mattered. i was still smiling, still riding the wave of warmth and well-being i get when a girl i like smiles at me that way.

it couldn't last, though, and didn't.