the crack-up…

I shared a moment with a woman the other day. She reminded me of you Cynthia. She complimented me on my tote bag of “The Great Gatsby” and she got a dreamy look on her face when she said, “F. Scott Fitzgerald, he’s just…” and I almost felt like she was transported back to her youthful days in the 50’s and wanted to say something along the lines of, “He’s just the most!”. I almost finished the line for her. But that dreamy look, it reminded me of you. And I didn’t want to let her to go. I almost reached out for her, for you. Because I keep wanting to have one last moment with you. One last conversation about nothing but about everything at the same time. I need one last encouragement that I have it in me. It was like you could really see inside of me, like you could see it there. Like it was am ember, burning, glowing. I just need something of you. An object, an ornament, something to wear around my neck so I feel like you’re with me. Because I really did feel like you were going to save my life.


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