I didn’t want them to know I was there.
I didn’t want them to reach out and draw me in. I didn’t belong. Not there not anywhere not to anyone anywhere.
I stepped back, back, back.
Again.
169.
now
You think it’s the sad memories that break you. The times they walked away, or hurt you so much that you turned away instead.
But it’s the good ones that take you down. The big things they did to help you. The smallest things that made them who they are, made them who you still love in spite of everything they did and you did and the world did.
It’s the times that were beautiful. That were so, so good.
You can never
get them back.
170.
Syd, in the rain, in the parking lot of the grocery store.
Sam, in the water, in the dark.
Alex, laughing across the artificial green turf of the mini-golf course.
Ella, waiting in front of her house, holding her running shoes, beaming.
Mom, lifting piece after piece of shattered glass, tears in her eyes.
Dad, handing out tinfoil dinners by the fire.
Jack, swinging at the ball on a summer night.
Yolo, finding me again.
171.
now
Like that poem about the soldier, I’ve been naming the parts.
Mom.
Dad.
Jack.
Syd.
Sam.
Alex.
Ella.
