This is Not a Love Story

When I left Arizona, it was early morning and desert cold. I drove north; snow blanketed the ground near Flagstaff. In the backseat of Cali, Charlie the cat was yowling. She would yowl for the first two hours before going silent. I can tell the story now, with flippancy and humor. I can make people chuckle at my misfortune and poor decisions. But that morning and later that day, I was the least like the person that most people know, and there was no laughter in me. I’d told a man I loved to do something or else I would leave. And then I left.

But this is not a love story.


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