Why I Love Tristan

I am surveying the wreck of my latest almost-relationship. There is my heart lying battered on the ground, smoke rising from the crevices. It feels strangely peaceful to have my heart outside my body for a while. It doesn't hurt so much.

Tristan appears behind me and looks over my shoulder.

"Another one Jenn? Boy, you sure know how to pick 'em."

"Sometimes, they pick me," I say, hiccuping between a chuckle and a sob.

"Yeah sweetie, but you can always say no."

He examines the grooves on my heart and shakes his head: "Addiction."

"Not love?"

"Nope."

"I thought for sure it was love this time."

I lift the messy organ off the ground and hand it to him: "Why don't you stomp it some more while you're at it?"

Tristan smiles, dusts off my heart gently and places it back in my chest cavity. "A sting, and then peace..."

I start to cry of course. It's all I ever seem to do at this stage and he holds my hand and just allows me to wail.

This is why I love Tristan. This is why I will always love Tristan.

When the sobs subside, he swings my hand in the air: "Let's run away."

"OK, where?"

"The beach?"

"Cool."

So we pack into his rattletrap of a car, stopping along the way for supplies. At the beach we unpack our cask wine, served up in jelly glasses and prawn cocktail, which we eat with our fingers. Somewhere at the back of my mind I am aware of the consequences. I know I am going to feel plenty sick tomorrow. But who cares?

Tomorrow is tomorrow. And it is still only today.

As we chug the cheap wine, we grow maudlin, sing songs, swap stories. I ask about boa constrictor girl, one of his girlfriends who insists on sleeping with her snake. And I don't mean that in a sexy way. Tristan shakes his head and sighs. She was interesting, but she is so over. I ask about the bliss-fairy and he perks up. Yes, they went out a couple of days ago. May be something there.

And he asks about Rumpelstiltskin, my latest disaster. And I tell him. Thus, we reduce our exes to some strange quirk or body part, draining them of humanity. They're easier to deal with like this. Not real people anymore. Just a collection of foibles.

And ANYONE can get over a collection of foibles.

Even me.

It's early and the sun is rising. Tristan gathers me close and I lay my head on his shoulder and shut my eyes. There is a hush in the air, and in that magical moment, the pain dissolves.

I open my eyes to find Tristan has vanished.

I feel sick from the cheap wine and cold prawns like I knew I would.

Tomorrow has come.

But I feel better all the same.

And this is why I love Tristan.