One Paragraph Story June continues…
June 18- AM edition
So I’ve taken to singing. To fill the void. Some days I even like my voice. I feel uplifted when the din of missing you is drowned, until a break between the chorus and verse leaves me to take note that I put Propinquity on a CD for you- when you flew on a place away from me. How I thought you were visiting your friend, and not going back to him. I want to hate you for tainting this song, for breaking it. But I still miss you, and I know I could never truly hate you like I want to, so I hate Michael Nesmith. For writing the songs that speak to me about love, about learning to love, about feeling worthy of someone. I tore a picture of you out of a frame and wrote a letter to him on the back, the ink ran, and smudged, my palm black with the memory of you. I sent it anyway. The letter spoke of my displeasure that he wrote such wonderful songs. Songs that I begin to fall in love with, and want to share. Share with a girl I like. Play them on lazy Sunday afternoons, reading on the couch, light nudges with our toes to say “Hello, I’m still here” without words. So I tell him about you; the one who filled me with warmth, the one who broke my heart. The one who infected all my good things with bad things when you left. And I sing, in all our favourite places, to save them from rotting, or worse: fading. They were happy moments, before they became cracked memories, and I am afraid to lose them. So, I ask the Nez for forgiveness of what I have put on him. Put on him so I can still have some small part of me care for you.