“Are you still all about her?” he asked me, fumbling for the right pronunciation. I wasn’t happy with this turn of conversation. It’s easier for me to speak from my experience, not about my experience.

            It was nighttime. The air of a northern spring settled around us. The breeze was chilly, making us shiver in our shorts and t-shirts though it left us with the tantalizing knowledge that summer was coming and it would be warm soon. It was clear, too. The stars blazed down on us in all their glory, imparting to us that somewhere, if not here, things were peaceful and serene. Sounds of laughter, conversation and music wafted out to us from the house we stood in front of; his girlfriend’s house. Everyone was having a good time; even we, though the mood was more solemn in light of our burdening conversation.

            “Yes,” I replied.

It wasn’t an exclamation; I had to prove nothing to no-one. My actions far outweighed my words and I knew that. He heard me but I don’t think he comprehended the answer; he was too drunk for that. Besides, the answer wasn’t so much for him I realized, but for me. It was simple, somber, definitive. He was too drunk to understand the weight of the reply, but I was just tipsy enough to admit the fact which I never would have uttered stone-sober. “Yes,” I replied again, looking at him with a sympathy that comes from experience. “I love her, like you love your girlfriend. The only difference is that you still have your love. You have to weather this storm; it’s all you can do.”

I turned and walked back inside. I escaped the weight that night, but I knew it would be there tomorrow.