He remembers the look as she said no, before rolling over and falling asleep. He then spent the next two hours or so rolling around, trying to get situated in a bed that was so much softer every other night of the week. They parted the next day like neighbors in the grocery store, refraining from much gossip so as to better assess the good and bad bananas. He stopped thinking about all that did and didn't happen until the occasional reminders suddenly struck at a particularly creative point in his life as if everyone had been mercilessly plotting to bring him back down to the way he once was, when it was easier to be so unapologetically casual.
He then started to live his way like she had taught him. Quick and forward movements from bedpost to barstool, not saying much of anything important, but still trying harder than most to ignore the sound of his own conscience coughing up public service announcements meant soley for his viewing pleasure. This is wrong, but enjoyable. This isn't love, but no one is really sure if love even exists anymore. Research on said habits has proven inconsequencial. Nobody knows what they're doing, and so you mine as well be lost like the rest of them
These minor strokes of denial and fruitless flattery eventually wore thinner than the torn pair of blue jeans he had on that one night it all made sense before it didn't, and now, without any clear and levelheaded stroke of genius to fall back on, he blogs for the sake of his own jumbled brain, creating nameless faces out of thin air to help better illustrate his ultimate point. We're all alone on the days we try to tell ourselves otherwise, but every once in awhile, the weight of the hours will surprise us.

"You don't believe all of this shit, do you?"
"Not exactly. I mean, I guess I like pretending to believe on occasion. It's the same reason children write out their Christmas lists well into their thirties."
"That's unhealthy behavior, though, don't you think?"
"Unhealthy is the new normal."
"Oh... right..."