“Let’s just take a break.”
“We’ll be ok.”
And all the memories began to float away as
The red rose from the first date at Ruggeri’s Italian Restaurant
welted.
The stuffed animal panda from the carnival in Hatsfield
became scratchy and broke.
The little red heart card claiming “Be mine forever” from Valentine’s Day
ripped in half;
Just like my heart split
after he broke up with
me.
My room was no longer my room;
it was a museum to his memory.
Sitting Indian style,
curled up in the middle of the dulled blue carpet,
forehead on knees,
I cried.
There was the green hoodie hanging
limp and spiritless from my bed post.
There was the Abercrombie navy blue t shirt I used to sleep in,
wrinkled and dirty.
He had been my world, my first real boyfriend.
I couldn’t go back to that high school, not with all of them watching.
They would know;
they would realize I wasn’t in the outfit he gave me for my birthday.
They would know I wouldn’t smell the same,
wouldn’t have that rustic guy smell that was his scent alone,
that smell of smoke and hazel and coffee all stirred together like stew in a pot.
They would see the bracelet gone,
the little heart charms now hiding around my room,
scattered from an
angry rage.
They would notice the empty fingers without the many silver and gold rings he
spoiled me with.
The Fenway Golf mini golf score card from our third date on June 4th was
torn up and faded,
swept by the wind out of my window like his love for me,
gone just as quickly as it had come.
No comments:
Post a Comment