An Open Letter to a Memory

There was a brief moment in my life where I knew freedom. Long ago enough that my immaturity allowed me to drink my way through it, excessive indulgence in all sorts of fantastic and colorful flashbacks. The memories are fuzzy, to say the least, but you…you are crystal.

I remember, so long ago, sitting, glassy eyed and smiling on that floral sofa we found so funny. I laughed so hard it hurt, still freaking over your insistence at coming home with me, the games put away. No interference. No best friends to watch my back…what were the fucking odds? Just me, you, and Miss American Pie…oh yes…that will never be lived down.

Running through my set lists, hearing how my voice made you feel…YOU…the real rock star. Taking your advice, never knowing within six months that part of my life would be neatly packed away. You were telling me how to take over the world…and I was too drunk to listen.

I remember the sound of your voice, I remember the feeling of the blush taking over, all attempts at maintaining composure gone. To this day, I hear the conversation turning, feel the heat rising.

It plays on a loop, you know. And I wonder how the universe chooses to bring our angels. Your insistence on my worthiness. On my potential. On my self-defeating ways. How close were you watching. How could I not have known. I laugh at my disbelief as I remember how you lectured me on my awesomeness. How it was fact that I was too good for the likes of the folks from our parts. How I had to get out…run…or wilt, suffering the slow death of every other soul on the block. Is it too late to say I’m sorry for not listening?

I’m so sorry for laughing when you asked if we could cuddle. Those were the last words I ever expected to fall from your lips. I smile to this day at the thought. Because you…like the others…were unworthy too. You knew there was nothing I would say no to…yet, you pulled me close, your breath heavy and hot on the back of my next, and whispered 1000 reasons for not doing what you so obviously wanted to.

I feel your arms still, your breath…being crushed against you as the sober light of morning brought you to. I never told you I didn’t sleep. I never told you how scared I was you would wake and run, or how thankful I was when you didn’t.

Breakfast, cigarettes, coffee and conversation…more of the same…as though we had always been together, until, with a simple kiss on the cheek, you told me thanks…and walked right out of my life.

I don’t want to lose this moment, this memory.

Now you know.



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