What went wrong?

Part of this heart is fire, but part of this heart is glass. Don’t things change, as we go 'round? Aint it the strangest thing, that we’re both strangers now?

What went wrong?

Nothing and everything. Nothing: we had an awesome time; we had magical adventures and stimulating conversation and really great sex. We even made real connections in those handful of predawn conversations that I and maybe he will remember for ages and ages. I imagined things in his company that I’d never bothered to imagine before: what it would feel like to walk barefoot on a volcano; how to find the patience to count all the stars; whether it physically hurt to grow old. I could never decide if his eyes were more milk chocolate or mudslide. I wondered if his lips would save the impression of mine, the way my pillow always knows how to come back to the curve of my head night after night. I didn’t tell him these things because it was all so much bigger than words.

Everything: all that stupid grey area. The deadlines and red tape and divergent cross paths leaving one of us more invested than the other; the way that we got on brilliantly and then had nothing much to say to each other; the manner of our parting; the fact that I’m no nearer to appearing in the sleeve notes of that next record than I was before I met him, though he’ll always remain one of the most crucial storylines in this here narrative. It’s not a case of the glass being half full or half empty; more that we tipped a whole half-pint into an empty pint pot. I had to see how much was there, though, and now I know.

There’s part of you I remember, but there’s part of you that I’ve let go, and so many things I still wish I could have let you know (before everything changed, as we went 'round). Aint it the strangest thing, that we’re both strangers now?