Punk Rock Academy

One Step Up

every word i write about her is another shovel's worth of dirt on memory's grave. i have put enough soil on its coffin so that no depressions will be visible to the naked eye, even after rain. the cemetery is quiet and green, but this grey marker still mars the tranquility because happily ever after was never supposed to end in dust to dust. perhaps we should be proud for achieving an alchemy of the heart and turning gold into leading words? for months my days were filled with the bitter imaginings of futon jealousy and the certainty of your happiness without me. now those days don't seem as long and the nights don't seem as dark. the scorching summer seems kind, as though it's trying to sunburn away the chill of too many nights spent alone. you may still linger in my thoughts like the fading remnants of a hangover headache, but that closed door to your new life no longer seems worth opening. many things may lie behind it, but i don't need to know what any of them are. i've turned the lock from my side and thrown the key into the ocean where it will corrode and rust, where it will be rendered useless for the ages. and neither of us will pass through that door again.

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Last modified on Wednesday, March 26, 2008