November 19th was an anniversary I wish I did not have. I spent it alone in a hotel room in Kent,Ohio.
I can not remember what I ate. I barely spoke to anyone. No one knew.
In honor of that anniversary....
“I am not ready for this,” I said looking like specks of dust on an over stuffed velvet chair. It is a deep crushing red, which makes us feel as if our eyes were smoking cigars. I have never smoked a cigar, but her smell seemed close enough.
She laughed with such force her head would pull back in uncontrolled waves. I can remember calling her crying when I felt lonely, but now I can only grasp at these tiny, fleeting images like ashes before me, and vanishing in my hand. I have no number to dial.
Separate, yet in the same strain she is string tangled around me and becoming legs. But my own legs have taken me running beside her through long belligerent hallways. Stopping in vacant rooms, breathing, and again towards the red light of the cold bathroom, towards the music from the broken record player. It was religious. Pasts and futures, mingling and heaving provided ghosts. We can still be found in the cracks along the floor and trapped in the newly painted walls.
There is something about you, I must say. Finding me in parks, with screams of my name, and high shrills of …...I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you too. You created a thick, sweet film around my bones.
In my dreams now your face looks like a collection of tiny shining points of light. I could color you in, in sections. Remember every hue. You have appeared as a mural on the side of a brick building, marvelously.