In the summer of 2000, I was living in New York because I had been in love with a man here, and because I was too stubborn to let it go at the cost of a boring internship that would pay me a fuckload of money.
We'd broken up, I thought, because I'd been living in D.C. and the fantasies he'd spun of an apartment together near Gramercy Park and the reality of a long-distance relationship were too much for him to bear. In retrospect, the difference between the (extremely traditional) life he wanted and the one he could have shared with me could ne'er be broached.
But, stubborn as ever and with the scent of lucre in my nostrils, I moved here anyway. It wasn't about him, it was about the money, right? I was such a good liar then.
Anyway, I listened to this song a lot that summer.
Damn, it holds up. Thankfully, it's not about him anymore. But it's such a weird feeling, the sense that your emotions have become Fortunato and you're Montresor, walling them up with the cask of Amontillado, ignoring their screams until they die off, going from that sense of deep knowledge to mere acquaintances.