“Can we take your picture?”
     I look to my girlfriend. She is bundled in three layers, red scarf wrapped around her neck, gloves with little tassels that I was just pulling on while thinking about last Monday afternoon when her and I got in an argument about me not coming over often enough and how I don’t treat her like I used to but when I asked her for an example so I could start being a better boyfriend the only answer she could give me was, “You just don’t listen!” and I tried to explain to her that I was listening, and listening now but that I didn’t know what to do so I needed her, needed her like a fish needs water or a flower needs sunlight yet all she could say was, “There you go, talking your nonsense again,” which made me cry because that’s how I actually felt for she didn’t know that I had been working six days a week and not taking her out to dinner anymore or trying to spend as much money on the gas for the 45 minute one way drive to her apartment so I could save up for a ring and hopefully—when the time was right, like right now when we are out on the town, watching the Christmas lights go up on the tree in the square with other couples, happy, around us, laughing, and the smells of hot cocoa, freshly popped popcorn, pine needles, and here another couple, they are smiling, still smiling and wanting to do us a favor (WHY?) because her and I represent, in your lives, a younger version of your love but you don’t know that we are just a faux, a face, a smile with teeth—pop the question, now, because if you’re going to do something the best time is now. I took a knee.
     We did not get our picture taken. 

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