Melancholy, I was feeling today. A lot on my mind, which need not be written here.

I messaged the carpenter.

"I need to get out of the house," it read. "Want to go for Chinese?"

"I feel the same," was the response. "I'll meet you there."

And so he did. He did most of the talking, which was unusual. He's pretty quiet usually, but I didn't feel like talking.

Standing in the parking lot. He, smoking a cigarette, and me, jumping from concrete divider to concrete divider.

"I feel like an adventure," he says suddenly, sucking on his cigarette and flicking glowing ash into the yellow street light.

"Okay," I say. "But it can't be too late. I have to work tomorrow."

He's silent for a moment. "So...no breakfast in Saskatchewan, then?"

I laugh. "No, probably not."

We ended up going for a walk in the big park nearby. When I say big, I mean it's the biggest park in the city.

At the very top of the tallest hill in the park (which, incidentally, is also the tallest place in the city, I think) there is a small concrete building, probably something to do with electricity or cell towers or some such.

We climbed up on top of the little building. The roof was slatted with wood, which was marginally warmer to sit on.

We sat there for a while, talking about shit, watching the shimmering lights of downtown, then lay there for a while, watching the pale yellow clouds drift over an ink black sky.

I hate light pollution.

I could see maybe all of six stars, and half of those always turned out to be incoming planes.

I told him what was on my mind, and he listened, but did not judge. We listened to three people walk by, chattering excitedly to each other. We speculated they were going to go smoke drugs.

"I feel like we should fuck," he said after a while. "Just so we could say we did it on the highest point in the city."

So we did. It was cold and brief, but the view was nice, and now I can say I've done it.

His truck was much warmer, and we made it more so.

He held me after, smoothed my hair with one sandpaper rough palm, and kissed my forehead again and again. I sighed and ran my fingertips over the delicate inner part of his wrist.

Then it was time to get re-clad and go to our respective homes, and that familiarity dissipated into the chill September wind.

Still, it was nice. He is not for me. He is polyamorous, and I am monogamous. I consider him a friend and a lover, but he will never be my boyfriend, except in the loosest sense of the word.

I wish, though, he could have stayed the night, just to hold me and tell me everything was going to be all right.

.

Rosie.

Before&After