| 11. FRIDAY THE 14TH |
| Valentine's is in a week, and I'm deeply transgressing and always depressed from reflections of you in your favorite dress. Quarter-moons make me so weak as I remember our footprints in the soft sand in another cold night on the beach. I carved our initials in the tree that fell from the latest breeze, next to the spot where I lost my keys. I visited it as a monument; a tribute to the delicate. I found your ring. I'm lying all alone. I unplugged my phone. I locked my door. I slept on the floor. I bought some chocolates for you, but I came unglued. Instead, they're battered and bruised from their fall when I threw them at my wall. They're lying on the floor with me now. You're lying on the floor with me now. I starved my initial request by proving that all good guys, forever and always, will finish second-best. I dreamt of golden skies, of a last dance with you and I, but I awoke shaking. My window was open. I thought you had left. |