recycling

he warned me. "I have 100 pounds on you easy, and you're matching me drink for drink." I never listen. I think I'm a woman of steel, able to withstand a barrage of beer, or a tsunami of tequila, or a catacylsm of cider, or... well, you get my point. This morning seemed early, and hazy, and slow, as I tried to pick through my things and figure out how the night ended. The scent of scotch in the air told me why I'd forgotten, and the clothes strewn across my apartment indicated a real rush to get them off.

We hadn't seen each other in at least four years, and I'd felt bad about how I'd ended it (three times). I never wanted as much from it as he did, and although we had great chemistry, that was about the entire sum. Apparently that chemistry hasn't died. I just wish I could remember how awesome revisiting it probably was.