New title, same story . . .
As I got sicker, Ross started calling me Amy again rather than Sam, as if his sidekick had already departed, as if he was politely but most assuredly removing himself from the clutches of the stranger now camped out on the living room couch, preferring the more familiar phantasm in his mind. That phantom girl was his; he had won possession of her he wasn’t sure how. He couldn’t let her go; he couldn’t suffer another intimate loss. If he had the sense to realize how much this hurt me, he would have stopped himself somehow, but the split emerged and gaped slowly, almost imperceptibly. His bird had flown, raised to a beautiful belief, someone he could think about, something he could cling to, but no longer someone to address in the flesh. He turned his attention, his face to the sky.
And maybe he was right in his stubbornness…
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