THIS IS NOT A LOVE STORY. THIS IS JUST MY LIFE. [PART 1.]
Sometimes I think that memories would be better and more beautiful if they were painted from a place of imagination versus reality. A sort of past life creative outpouring. Like colors swirling into surrealism…but in the now.
The thick of carpet fibre disgusts me. And softness is deceiving when your face is pressed in it. Echo of shame speaks and then lingers. Dirt never tasted so good.
One day I almost asked a stranger if they had ever woken up from a dream so vivid that they thought they were still in it. Lips shut. I walk on.
I carried my heart that day like a drum while reminiscing of the Oldies song that goes “…and the beat goes on…” You are married now. Out of state. New state of mind.
But that day I almost caught up. Max speeding. Legs moving. I had a feeling you were near. After that, I saw you once more. Happy endings.
Visitant 