James Brawley

And she accepts it.

So I take off my shirt and get in bed next to her and turn my back, and suddenly I start crying these weepy little hide-them-in-your-hotel-room pillow tears, which is not the kind of guy I am.

I'm a poker-faced, poker-bodied magical thinker.

I've been eating bear claws for a year and thinking I'm in shape and that I can be faithful and philanderer at the same time.

an overwhelmingly sad and yet strangely comforting relief to lie there and know that I can't, and that I've actually made a choice, that after seven days, seven years, really most of my adult life, to lie there next to Susan and, right or wrong, finally be me.