Independence Day

Loneliness is an addiction.

The early dawn was awakened by the news of your arrival. "We saw P. last week," Philip told me, matter of factly, unaware of its impact.

"Oh yeah?" I said, trying to feign disinterest.

I tried to immerse in the music blaring in the bar.

"Where? And when?" I finally turned to Philip. I couldn't help myself.

"Last Tuesday, at Starbucks. With his boyfriend I think," he answered.

"How did he look like?" I asked.

"The same," Philip said.

"How about his boyfriend?"

"I couldn't remember how he looked like. He's that forgettable," Philip said.

Does it matter if P.'s boy is ugly. Truth of the matter is that he's with him now.

Does it matter, conversely, who P.'s with at this point?

None of this matter.

It's been a year since I sent him the independence day email. In it, I attached a photo of the burning teddy bear I had given December 2003.

One year, thence, I am still colonized by my past which is my master.