I tried and I tried...
I wanted to know why she called.
I wanted to ask if she was worried that there might have been a tiny part of my heart she hadn't smashed into tiny bits.
But I didn't say those things.
I didn't say how hurt I was by the way she acted.
She said she thought she saw me.
She hadn't. I was nowhere near there.
In fact, I won't go back there. That place is haunted -- by memories of her.
So, no, I wasn't there. I was hundreds of miles away.
Doing something else. (And if I thought of her that night, well, I wasn't going to admit it. Not then and not now.)
The next night I dreamed about her. And the dream was so vivid, so real, that I knew some of the details about her in the dream were true.
And I wish that I'd never had the dream. Maybe then she wouldn't have called.
And then I wouldn't feel like my heart was being broken into tiny pieces all over again.
And how the hell did she know?
How did she always seem to know?
And why can't I ever seem to get back there?
The Louis Johnson Collection
8 hours ago