I spent three seasons in love

with someone who was not my boyfriend.

He was in love with someone else’s girlfriend

and so we understood desire similarly,

how it is a visitor you invite in for a drink

who stays for dinner, unpacks his things, 

and uses all the drawers in your guest room.

The girl he was in love with was dating someone who

I had, at another time, been a little in love with, too, 

and he, in is own way, with me.

But he was a narcissist

and eventually I realized that I was in love with the reflection of the lake

still in his eyes when he turned to look at me.


He came over one night

-- the one in love with the other girl --

and in the morning I took a picture of his hat on my beside table.

It satisfied everything in me to see it there, next to my rings and a condom wrapper.

More satisfying – are you surprised? – than the sex we’d had.

He was young and a little drunk

and I was on my period.