april 14th
A kiss in the chasteness summer, trying to be sure. I hardly remember if it was night or day, only that I had few words then and have abandoned all hope of finding them now. Deliberation calls into question what you had in store. A kiss to your ego, sure. This dance of seasons turning pages bearing ink-stains, two people finally not speaking at all. Still the buds blossom into something soft, the copper-toned leaves fall, snow dusts lampposts and the sun comes back to melt it all. The moment nudged memory to say that you smelled nothing like before. Reality took its leave, the years ran with the stories, ending with a quiet death on my word. A plead to not leave, but total resignation when the hour came. And you couldn't answer why your words rang to my ear the glittering note of insincerity. What to call but 'weakness' the sting in me that for long missed what was a perpetually half-formed thing? Oh, don't worry, it's not the same when we talk, more than a few things have changed; teenage angst has paid off well*. I wonder how it happened, I wonder if it was me... it must have all been me. No responsibility necessary, you'll be happy to hear.
* Borrowed from Kurt Cobain’s lyrics for “Serve the Servants”.