Monday, December 20, 2010


My memories were once based on gas stations and shin splints, choosing calorie memorization over Chemistry 101. And in those times between the laps around my neighborhood I learned that commitment was a crime. And the sort of punishment they handed out was for not being brave, for giving in to certainty, for choosing comfort and stability over the open road.

So that’s why it was no surprise when she said she’d write you and didn’t; why you text her and she received all but did not reply to any; why when you finally couldn’t stand the silence and took the pen in your hand as a last resort, the letter you sent went unanswered. The sympathy you looked for was never returned.

And you waited for a forwarding address or P.O. Box because you knew she had turned off her phone and let the bill on her electric lapse so there was so no email address she checked. But nothing came. I tried to warn you. They all tried to warn you. But hearing the words and listening to the meaning always confused you.

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