remember that weekend? this weekend. this very weekend, last year. I couldn't say any of this to him, not really. what would he--no how would he take it? {not that i care.}
so it's here. a safe place to remember, now that such a gulf, a whole year and then some (the anger compounds it into even more time than anyone can imagine) stretches between this day and that weekend. here. for remembering. going back, to pretend, to become that idiotgirl once more. that lost, deluded happy.
a mild february just like this one. the drive and the listening, his hand on my knee and our voices jolting together in occasional lucky, giddy harmonies. love and bologna. the prospect of new territory. completely new territory.
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