If you weren’t already in my heart’s muscle memory, I’d tell you to get in my life or stay out. You signed my yearbook, “Your Man”, but we say nothing of the ways I’ve stopped calling and returning your emails. I keep my face pointed up when we hug.
You chose it over me, I broke, and when I finally picked up all my pieces you waltzed back into town and wanted me to be there- to go to you. You chose it over me. So I said no. And I am over you. And I’ll probably never hear from you again.
Posted in musings |
I adore this series of memory pieces. Maybe it’s real, maybe it isn’t. It feels real, though, and that’s what’s important. I makes me want to reread Richard Hugo’s writing book The Triggering Town, which is by far the best book on writing. (I’ll even add an extraneous “Ever.”)