Ugh- the same, tired ol’ shit. I will walk past her house again, the same house I’ve passed since I was no more than ten. I knew as much about love then as I do now and I never want that to change. I remember the time she invited me to play on the trampoline in her yard. I grazed her arm, still the thing I remember most in each of my lovers. That feeling really grabs me to the core.
As each step rings heavier the closer I get to her parents’ home, I realize I am far, far away. I realize that as a Frenchman in Paris, croaking out the broken lines I know so well, romancing every woman in sight, none of this matters. Thousands of lovers surround me on the street, knowing so little of each one, but knowing everything I need. I tell them we should sleep together, but to sleep is so sad. I steal a new car every time I get tired of the last. I enter each scene by matching a cigarette that never leaves my face. Avoid! Avoid! Avoid memory’s broken promise.
I am pursued by bumbling inspectors, somehow they know everything I do and have done the moment I do it, but I always elude them. I dodge and dive behind posts, newspapers, large hats and glasses. I am immortal, there is nothing they can do. There must be tens of thousands of apartments I can duck in, each one with another unsuspecting lover; each one an enemy once they can see through me. I can’t stay long, but I linger enough to burn through a few cigarettes and their sheets.
I can hear her phone call from the other room. This time, I know I am through. This one will run to me though, I just know it, as I am gunned down in the street- my last breath a trail of smoke. I will say something nonchalant about finally resting. Or bemoaning the love of an informer. Or that I finally achieved my greatest ambition- to become immortal… then to die. It doesn’t matter, really. You wouldn’t run to me, and I am just a coward hiding in each doorway, behind the daily paper, and in comically large hats and glasses. A coward who will never betray his love enough to let you hold it again.