The day I first saw him at the bar, I must admit I stared a little. I had never seen him before, and he was perfect. His tattoos, his gauges, his beard, he was thin, but fit. I noticed it all, every detail. I saw him a few days later riding his bike down 20th street, and almost consciously, I decided I had to know him.
We were together for only a short time, maybe two months. We weren’t anything that special, but he was the new guy in birmingham, and I just happened to be his first girl here. I remember lying together in the middle afternoon, just being lazy after a ride around Southside.
“I don’t think I can do this,” he said.
“Do what?”
“I’m just not ready for it,” and he rolled onto his back away from me.
I didn’t know what to say other than a little, “okay”.
And that was that. Small talk passed as he gathered his things together, got dressed, put his shoes on and everything. I walked to the front door with him, still topless and only wearing these little jersey shorts.
“I’m sorry,” he said to me, looking genuinely sad.
“It’s ok, I promise.”
Then he kissed me on the forehead, and walked out of my life.
