I can’t look at her without remembering that we slept together. 

I don’t know how often if crosses her mind when we stand talking in a crowd, and I don’t know if she remembers—when she touches my arm—that she used to hold it with both hands.  Sometimes I kiss her cheek and it all comes back in a rush and I have to sit down or walk away. Most often I just smile.

One night she told me that she missed me, and I didn’t know what she meant.  Did she miss seeing me more often or was there more? Did she miss my body, or my touch?  Did she miss calling my name and whispering terrible things into my ear or did she simply miss the thought of me? 

We make a point never to be alone, and maybe that’s enough.  Maybe it’s enough to know that she’s trying, and that sometimes it takes effort not to take my hand.  Maybe it’s enough to know that while nothing will ever happen between us again, in the back of her mind she still worries. 

—Guy New York