Why can’t this be life? Why can’t this stay forever? Struggling with addiction versus struggling with depression? I can’t make one better and the other the same at the same time. I wish I was better at writing and that people would read my things. The only reason that they have so far is because of its parallels to addiction. But I don’t know if I can write stuff that people will want to read.

I love the women that don’t want me the most. XXXX is the number on example. I have in love with her for a long, long time. Since I was young and sober and alive for the first time. She used to just be that really hot girl that was also very messy and didn’t try to look hot, the kind you dreamt about. I have loved her for some very long years.

She has had my attention for nearly a decade without doing a thing for it. And she has never wanted it either, which has also multiplied it exponentially. I wonder what would have happened if hat night with XXXXX I hadn’t made a move, if I ever would have had a shot with her. I doubt it very seriously. She is too great for a man like me to tie back.

I still remember when we went to see Everything Must Go, and we left in the middle of the movie to buy a single apple to smoke weed out of. Everyone at HyVee knew exactly what we were doing. And then we sat on the curb and got high together. It was the second time I had smoked weed ever. The first time I had done it, I had freaked the fuck out. There had been something missing.

And then we giggled and bullshitted the night away, until the very last car left the parking lot. I remember looking straight forward and not moving, as if this would keep anyone from seeing me. She starred at the car as she whispered “Red, yellow, green” as the car pulled out and left.

Too soon after that, we followed suit, the perfect night coming to its ultimate close. I wish that night could be every night. I would give every night just for that one night to happen again. That brown hair flowing down that skinny back on that warm summer’s night. Her shorts were the perfect choice, if I do say so myself. Her yellow shirt still brings light to my heart when I think about her. About that night. About that life that never happened.

That never will happen. As we drove home, I could think only of two things; her skinny, tan thighs. I had a girlfriend at the time, the kind that is the wrong one but you don’t want to believe it until a moment like that. Amarillo. That is the only word that I can use to describe the feeling that I had that night.

That yellow moonlight. And of course she was with the man that I just knew was from her. Wrong for so many reasons, but most importantly because he was not me. We were so carefree and foolish and young. Eventually, I lost all control of reservations and judgement. I reached out and took a chance, what would be the only chance I would ever get.

For the briefest, quickest, most desiring moment of my life I reached over and grabbed what I still believe to this day is the most beautiful left thigh that I have ever seen. And as I believe one of the few true miracles I have witnessed, she did not slap me or my hand. She didn’t yell at me and never speak to me again. She gave me that moment of bliss, that moonlit sunshine. It’s still the greatest gift I have ever received.

And of course it was followed by my life’s greatest mistake. I let it go, and the moment passed into my memories until now. I often wonder what my life would be like in yellow.

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