It started with a flirt, a wink. Invitations. Slow turn. Closed doors.

I am sleeping in the bed of a girl I barely know who says we’ve known each other for awhile now. I am overwhelmed and mildly disappointed.

She is crying on my shoulder, outwardly embarrassed, arm around me, horizontal, under the covers, half naked, no panties, running mascara, light whimpers, drunk.

I am playing with her hair, slowly. Like an ancient lover. No. Like an older brother.

She says she is lonely.

I say I know the feeling.

She says I don’t have to stay.

I’m saying she needs sleep.

The pressure of bare hips on jeans. A light rasp in the breath. She is now incapable of being woken.

I am putting my shirt back on and leaving, 5am, shoeless, silently, in the dark. The walk of shame is not so shameful when you’re innocent.

My bed is colder than usual.

My friend doesn’t join me for coffee in the morning.