It was a simple phrase which we found would fit most situations. Like after estatic release, when we were all the more a part of each other-- arms, hearts, legs entwined, One of us would mutter "What am I going to do with you?" Or in utter dejection, after one of our really bad arguments, when I cried myself to sleep, (or simply cried,) and you hopped in the car and drove anywhere (really nowhere) At three, or maybe four you would call saying no name, asking only "what am I going to do with you?" I have clung persistantly, stubbornly to my memories of you, carefully erasing all of your negative qualities; I have steadfastly held on to conversations, stances, and poses: little old memories, like the scar above your eye. your face has all but faded, yet you linger: a bittersweet aftertaste that I experience sometimes at three in the morning...... what am I going to do with you?