Dear C.,

Remember when we escaped

the holy sea of tents

and your girlfriend that one time?

I still remember the

freedom of the wind

coming through your car windows

while we blasted the radio

and laughed like laughing was oxygen,

and remember the fortunes?

Twenty-four in a row,

and yours opened flour and water

to reveal curses,

and mine promised divinity

in a cookie crust.

And remember when we sort of loved each other,

but never said so

until afterwards?

We had only ever joked about

my fork in the road,

and which way I should take.

You said you were waiting at one end,

and I pictured dancing casinos,

wearing red top hats,

and fast cars,

and the cloying singe of

cloves on my tongue.

But I said no.

I’ve had so many more forks, C.,

it’s hard to think about them all,

and how they’ve led me winding here,

to my happiness and dissatisfaction,

which is why I have to walk

with a foot on each side

of the path.

36 Comments

  1. This is a bit of a non-comment – but I was just writing about why we choose certain paths and about people who don’t walk on the path.

    Beautiful poem – I can feel both the disappointment and the hope.

Love you, too

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