The last memory I have of you is how you held me delicate and hopeful like a wish you wanted to keep; safe forever. I swear that when I closed your apartment door I heard a sound like the ripping of a tattered cotton sheet. Love will never be enough for us to return to when the sun breaks the day over our hearts. Every bone in my body has anticipated this moment I think I started taking extra calcium just in case the impact of my hope train hitting the wall of reality was too strong of an impact for my human frame. I know breath will not always come easy…I know that hearts don’t always break fully on impact.
I know that hope can be your bitchy neighbor that hangs out on her lawn trying to chatter at you the moment you step out the door. I want to shut hope out but I can’t because of the enticing prospect of your return to me. It will be marked by well rehearsed and sincere apologies coupled with an amputation of all things in your personality and mine that stood between us. This is at best unrealistic and at worst sadistic for both parties. Yet closing the door on all hope makes no sense…it means we close the door on truly living.
Do I wait for the wind to blow a strong gust that will allow the door to navigate its own way to the latch? Do I force it shut and in the process accidentally shut the proverbial thumbs of my heart in it? Do I simply watch it leave it open and let it remain so in the recesses of my mind? I can’t put my finger on what is right. I don’t want to miss you. I don’t want to see you when I pass certain buildings on the street or hear certain songs in coffee shops.
Yesterday I heard a Duran Duran song and I almost broke into audible sobs over my raspberry vegan muffin and my skim latte. I want to breathe you out of me slowly like a long drag from a cigarette. I smile at the reflection of myself in the rear view mirror and turn the radio station up louder.
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