Sunday, July 10, 2005
Last night I dreamed of an old lover, felt myself lingering in the glow of the memory until the coffee pot was empty.
It's been years since I've seen your face and decades since I felt your touch. I wonder if you still love the snow, and if you think of me when you listen to Rod Stewart. Do you still stay up half the night and compose bad poetry, or have you taken to sleeping like most of the world? I would like to see you, find you in the park, hidden in the old truck tire, or sitting on the grass without shoes. I would ask you if you're happy. If life has treated you well. Has it gone as you expected? Does your heart still break? I would ask if you've climbed those mountains you dreamed of, and did you take a picture? Are your shoulders still broad and do they hold those you love with your strength? I wonder if my hand would feel the same in yours, and if you ever grew a full beard. Would I fit in your arms as perfectly as before?
It's been years since I've seen your face. Would your recognize me in a crowd? Only pieces of the girl that I was remain. Reality has left its wounds on me...I don't know how it happened. One day I was listening to your laugh, the next I was drinking a cup of coffee, my legs curled up under me on a sofa I used to love, wondering how I happened to get here. And if you still love the snow.