Sunday, August 25, 2013

Twice Promised


It’s strange now to think of you after all this time. A letter twice folded slipped into the back of a desk drawer. There are marks on me where the pen met the paper. A past filled with promises. The present left unattended. Where do we go from here? You kept asking. On the back porch I drink a glass of cold water making my teeth hurt. My answers are incomplete. Shelves are brimming with unread books. Where do we even start?  A question mark perched on the edge. I would apologize if I knew what you did wrong. We move, move, move to stop from thinking about each other.  Now that I've paused, flood waters. Remind me to look you up after I’ve sorted the recycling. Sitting quietly with past, I surrender. 


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