no strings attached

The name of the game was simple: don't get attached. Easier said than done for someone who isn't me. Attached to what, I don't know, but attached I've become. Attached to my phone and attached to the possibilities of a new night and attached to that first moment of hope that hits you as you close the door behind you into the dark for the first time and attached to that first breeze that blows your hair just right as you strut down the street believing in the possibilities of the night and attached to the way those possibilities grow and build bigger and bigger with each beer that goes down and how these possibilities soon become possibilities you actually find yourself believing in because it's 12:30 and you are texting him and he is replying yes yes yes and this is the fourth time he's said yes so of course it means something or you at least really really really want to believe it does and attached to the way he places his hand on the small of your back as you swig back more beer because you know how the night is going to end and attached to the giddy cab ride home and one last cigarette before a walk up another flight of stairs and the shutting of a door. And you are mostly attached to the way he holds you tight afterwards and how you believe it' somehow matters each and every time.