My Skin Has Made Promises. Whether The Rest Of Me Has Or Not.

Cell phones ring with unexpected voices. Voices that I've only had conversations with in my sleep for the past 10 years. She was calling from my parents front porch. The same place that I last kissed her goodbye. First loves and last kisses, all tracking me down in the September sun.

She still swears that every single word she ever said was always just a bullet in his head. Flights to Utah, we buried him underground between friends and love that Fall, the only things that made it to the end with him.

Lately I've felt a lot like what I imagine he was feeling. Maybe more like a hand grenade, and now she swears that every word she says pulls the pin.

I wiped up his fragments to save her mothers eyes from it all. I still dream about the way his skull was so brittle.... and the way that it was probably just a hint of his spine. Permission to hate him? Granted. But we both still have permission to forgive. Besides...nothing good has ever come from a grudge... or a gun for that matter.

Stains remain, and that's not just a metaphor, it's much more like a description of the garage floor. But I think there's been a breakthrough. I've come to grips with it all this afternoon. A day on the lake cleared so much of the clutter. I think I might have even understood him a little better. For a moment.

CandlesLitForMrWheatley... that's what Fall reminds me of. And yet it's still my favorite season. Here's to the few and far between moments that we have shared since graduation. You're doing big things kid. I can't wait to get to know you all over again. And the answer is "no." I gave you that piece of my heart forever. I don't want it back. Besides the scar is so much better.