A Brief Inventory

I have been in love three times. The first time, I was sixteen and she was eighteen. She took me to the park and taught me how to kiss.

The second time, I was twenty-one and she was twenty-one. She made me feel proud to be me.

The third time, I was twenty-two and she was eighteen. She lived in an apartment next to the Centre Georges Pompidou in Paris. For ten days, she slipped beautiful Paris into my pockets like nervous love notes. For a different ten days, I watched New York City render her breathless.

The first one graduated from college and decided to go to South Africa. We ended our relationship because we had not been making each other happy for the past two years.

The second one graduated from college and decided to move back to Houston where she would teach English at her old high school. She ended our relationship because I was far away from her.

The third one graduated from lycée and we wrote a bunch of emails to each other. When I came to visit her over the summer, she ended our relationship because she had acknowledged its impossibility.

The first one is married to a South African man and lives in South Africa.

The second one has a boyfriend and lives a block away from where I work.

The third one will always be a cozy mystery. She lives in France.