The surest way to let a girl know you still think about her is to say out loud to no one in particular you have stopped thinking about her. I’ve been trying to think of a way to sit still on my hill loud enough for everyone to hear I’ve moved on. It makes me feel pretty transparent.

The names on my BlackBerry call log are sorted by the total time I spend in conversation with each person; it feels just so practical and rewarding to see the people I talk to most on top. Natasha Messnered (without oxygen? —ed. [isn’t the —ed. thing just such a cliche now? —ed.) up to that summit however long ago, and very monk-like hasn’t come down from that particular peak even though we haven’t talked in like (a) months. It seems so long. I would have replaced her by now if—well, a lot of things.

But a week or so ago Sarah called, and we talked and listened for about half an hour. When I said goodbye and my phone went back to the call log Natasha had been replaced. Finally? Forever? I wanted to bellow over my alphorn, “Girl, I’m gone for good.” I was too proud of such an insignificant moment for it to last long.

So I sat down to carve ‘Tash a letter into stone because the best way for me to process my emotions is to inflict them on other people. I told her that when she felt alone, there was someone who wanted to be by her side even when he knew he shouldn’t. That if she wanted to know whether she was pretty, there was someone who would be unspeakably happy swimming in the sweet blue pools of her eyes. That sort of stuff. I ended it on a bittersweet note, a bit of a fuck her: She’s missing out on this, me.

I’m not very good at the bravado thing though, and I didn’t even manage to convince myself; I didn’t mail any of it. I gave up on sending her any sort of anything at that particular time and tried to quiet the urge to give our finality some more finality. Tried repeating “I better be quiet now” as a prayer.

When I walked down from Maudlin Mountain to dip my toes in the grassy meadow that laps at the foothills (or go to work or something), I realized the tablets I carried with me were blank. What’s so wrong with wanting some scribbled down meaning to go with all the people spinning in and out of my life?