Thursday, December 27, 2012

She’s Remembered

She’s there in my head,
this woman I remember,
always teasing me with
her wry smile and sexual
charms. She makes me
laugh. She’s intense.

She’s what I remember her to
be, but it’s not her. It’s not her
at all. The real her won’t even
say hello to me, so all I have
is an incomplete fantasy of a
memory, that in all reality
wasn’t perfect, but it seemed
to mean something

But because she’s in there,
so ever present in my memory,
I’m constantly running in
circles trying to let the real life
version know that I care, and I’m sorry
and if I could do it again I would.
And I would do it differently.
I would have fought.
I would have said,
“Don’t Go”.

The real her however, doesn’t
even notice I’m sure. She hardly
bats a lovely eye at my flailing
arms in the sea of time that’s
flooded in between us.
Now my pleading looks like
desperation and the antics of
an aging, silly man.

So my memory of her is all I have.
It’s very little comfort at night when
the cold wind blows in from that
hole in the air conditioner screen
that the squirrels chewed
that I covered with duct tape.
But I have the memory
nonetheless and as much as
I want her to want me,
to be with me
and make new memories
I have to face the fact
that it was short
and small and
in the end
hardly worth it at

I lie. It was worth it.
And the memories are
better than having

My memory makes me
miss her. My heart growing
ever fonder.

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