The tongue forgets last. It sketches summers of blackberry bushes and ocean water you weren’t supposed to swallow. It’s memorized winters of bleak days broken only by the hope of a drop of jam. Most of all, it remembers the feeling of your mouth, soft and sad, like a peach.
May 28, 2009
May 13, 2009
50 Word Wednesdays.
I have two things I could say, so I’m writing you two letters. One to tell you I love you, one to tell you I’m leaving. Even if it’s just to fall apart, we have to move forward. So: pen to paper. I’ll know which letter to give you tonight.
