Along Came Poly

“I’m polyamorous,” he said, smoking his cigarette.

“Meaning?” I said.

“I love many people. I don’t know how anybody can love just one,” he said.

He exhaled and watched the smoke rise.

“My best friends is going away,” he said, “not forever, but for a long time. I hope she’ll be happy.”

We leaned against the adjacent wall.

I imagined he did know how to love just one, and did. But who am I to know anything?

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