I want to ask you why the moon sits in a different place at the same time every night when I am in my back porch wonderland.
There were mountains and mirrors and lists of long lost loves not forgotten, just simply misplaced.
We watched comedies on a screen we could barely see. That did not appear to matter; the comfort of your presence made me not pay attention anyway.
I walk along the streets, not too far away from home. Long floral skirts with striped tops and the scent of patchouli which I will still say I hate, brings comfort to my Fridays.
I dated your childhood friend briefly who told me of adventures with the lake monster of so many years ago before drugs stole him back. I never did get to say goodbye. Only to his mother who whispered “I wish that I knew sweetie. I wish I knew.” Struggling to hold back tears from years of torture that he put her through.
We are all born innocent but just not free. It is the damaged spirit and dreams inflicted upon us during the younger years that turn us into attention seeking whores blowing lines in the bathroom stall at a local Pub down the street. It does not start out this way.
On a different note, I remember how the charm on your necklace was always slightly to the right. As if that is something one should notice, but I cannot remember what the charm was or even if it was a charm at all.
You see my life is all cycles of of mostly bad to just bad to not so bad at all. But the latter never seems to last too long.
I have been told that I have a ridiculously accurate memory considering and I am wondering “considering what?” as I am writing this now.
I remember what mile marker I was at in Idaho when my tire went flat. It was right outside of Mullan population 840 but that was in 1999. I am sure it has grown since then with people running away seeking a better life. A recent high school graduate just a bit younger than me offered me a ride which I refused only to find him at the same place he sent us to get help from the fuzzy guy behind the counter after walking three miles to get there. He said howdy and looked amused when he saw me. Things were different there.
But about my memory, I can’t quite tell you what I did for my twenty-fifth birthday or if I did anything at all.
My days come and go like most peoples do, but do they regress like me? Or do they hold on to the past also preventing them from ever being okay.
You described me as zombie-like once, you said it was until the first time you saw me smile that you knew I was different and maybe not crazy at all.
I have these dreams most nights that wake me in tears. They seem not to make sense just random thoughts and memories pieced together out of order although it maybe it is all a sign.
I like the feeling I get sometimes before I take my pills. It is that rush of anxiety that mimics future hope but the feeling of excitement fades and resonates in my head.
I spent most days missing the ones I have lost more than loving the ones I have. It isn’t supposed to be this way, although this is the way it is. And so it goes.
(Note: the photo is from http://www.elementsbathandbody.com/images/T/FlowerBomb.jpg)