In the midst of distorted memory, searing nostalgia, and unspoken wishes, you came to me. Years pass and I have explained to everyone I love that no one ever comes to my dreams until they are gone. Your coming haunts me because you never came that you could go in the first place.

We sit directly across from each other on your couch. You invited me in and in place of words I embrace you. We kiss. I don’t know if we are in love. You are wearing thin black pants and a peach scarf whose islets of ochre have thin red borders. Your earrings are long and golden. They remind me of 1997.

Once the one you are not said that after you leave the company of the last person you fell in love with, at least five years must pass before you can meet the next person you will fall in love with, regardless of whether you are still in love. You called it “The Five Year Rule.” How have you been this last half decade?

The second time, I had a radio, like Cheever's enormous one. Still, I was surprised that I could hear you talking in your house when it was on. In the morning, I was surprised you and he were waking in each other’s company. I didn’t think you two had that much in common.

You both were talking about me.