My memory lane is cracked and uneven. Just yesterday I walked through my old home. Familiar yet unfamiliar. I wonder if her someone new notices all the small reminders of the old me. And now, today, the song the radio is a time machine. Where she is in the living room wondering who I am now and why …
love or something like it
I want you to notice me— not the way people do in passing, with a smile, a nod, my name spoken lightly as you move on. I mean really notice me. Because when you see me now you only see the version of me that trips over my own words. In my head they arrive …
