The snow is half melted on the grass. For some that means spring is coming. It means warm air…flowers. For me it’s just a weird February. It just gets warm enough to make the world ugly. You were my spring. You gave me sunshine and bright lights, trees…leaves. You gave me beauty. All I ever gave myself was February.
Remember I used to find you out on the porch, reading. I used to sit right next to you and not say word. I just felt your warmth and smiled. Then after awhile you would say something. You crack a joke about my hair. You would ask if I finished the dishes. You’d say I love you. Then you’d smile.
Now, I just sit and stare out the window at the sleeping grass and pray for a smile. In this place I can’t hear the birds. I can’t hear people talk. I just get stare and think about my present. I remember when thinking about my present had two meanings. But all these memories seem too perfect, you know? It seems like a movie script. The whole “perfect girl” scenario has just been done.
But being in here has been a form of torture. On one hand I can hear everyone around me talkin’ at and swattin’ at things that aren’t real. On the other hand I’m not sure I’m not doing the same thing. Stokin’ the flames hope the fire will get big enough that I can wrap my arms around it.
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