she entered the story
heard that old song
could almost feel his lips on her neck
remember walking up the two flights of steps
just to say goodbye
over and over again
she began to write looking to echo lost love
but somehow found heartache
that she thought had been long buried
but was not quite dead
she had not seen it coming
until it came out of her fingertips
she recalled thinking he was the one
he had told her she was just another
but she could not leave
not after that night at the window
when they had seen beyond the music and the smoke
into each other’s souls, as trite as that sounded now
careening down the highway in that old wagon
it was pouring rain and she ventured nearer to him
that song played and fit like a perfect soundtrack
they had so many lost weekends as the years flew by
but he always held her aloft and she wanted to land
as he spiraled into his own depths she could not shake him
so many years later the lines of the song
were now etched on her face
he was back from some lover’s graveyard
was almost flesh and blood the memory was so vivid
her skin tingled as it had after the final embrace
but she was writing the story now
writing the story did not give any of the time back
it was like looking at old polaroids
awkward and poorly lit memories
that served to remind and illuminate and entertain
and it was just possible not to lose one’s heart again
if only the words were kept at bay
The Word Rummager 