Last night could have been any other night in my past, as it seems the theme of some of my adulthood.
It reminds me of the time I thought it was great, at 19 in Hawaii, to have drunk, oblivion sex on Waikiki beach. I had gone swimming naked with a boy I had just met. Starry, euphorically-hazed romance, falsely reminisced upon with affection. But, I think time does funny things to my memory.
So, if more time passes, will last night's events become a memory I hang onto with the intention of recalling it fondly later?
Because, right now, last night was cheap. It was a date with a bad ending. It was dinner and shooting and ice cream and sex and it was sticky and shallow and empty and meaningless. It didn't feel at all like the way I remembered feeling on Waikiki Beach.
Idealizing my memories and disguising the painful truth. Dressing up an event with scenery, with clothing, with delusion. How long until last night's cheap date turns the sand cutting my back and the tears running down my face and the chill from the breeze on my damp body into a night of starry oblivion with an unfamiliar lover and a vacation affair? That one took 16 years.