dirty hair

I doubt myself again

and us

I fear we’ll never recapture what we had

I fear we will

What then???

Either way all this longing will be for naught

Who am I to you?

What are you to me?

A shadow of a memory

a ghost of a touch

You were always the smart one

and I am just a girl 

with dirty hair

who hates her own handwriting.

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13 comments

      1. Pretty much the same, but I’m not complaining. Got all my shit done for today, so now I’m going out for a little “Writing With Wine”, at my favorite gator pond. I saw a big guy there last time (about 10ft.), and I’d love to try to get a few pics of him. What’s on your dance card for the day? Anything good?

      2. I bet you’d fit perfectly in that gators belly. Today I’m working until 4, a friend is grilling out so maybe I’ll do that. But I’m a bit grumpy so maybe I should just call it a day and not subject my friends to my sarcasm.

  1. “Who am I to you?

    What are you to me?

    A shadow of a memory

    a ghost of a touch”

    Brilliant stanzas Heidi! I like how you painted the juxtaposition of longing for what you have but perhaps knowing it was wrong all along.

  2. This is delicious–a biography in a few dozen words. And a mirror: It makes me think; I like the aesthetics of my handwriting, which I cultivated to look mature and confident at a time when I was not, yet I don’t like it any more than I like the me that was at that time. I mourn for that kid, but I can’t say that I like him. Or ever did, even then–especially not then–he doubted himself, too.

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