Those nights in Buffalo were a dream. After driving 10 hours to 49 Ashland Ave, she'd be on her way to work. Yet, always she found time, one more time, to make love with me before she left. That was then. The Northpark theater was old, creaky. I would be lying if I said I didn't fantasize about tipping the velvet behind that antiquated, thin screen. It was a re-run of Devotion by Tracy Chapman that kept me company when she left. The nights were buffalo winter cold and lonely. I was attached and young and scared and refused to say goodbye to my ideas of sage colored houses with lavender trim and wild flower gardens in the front. It was all there. All planned, at 19 I had it all figured out. She was mine and I was hers. That was, until he came in. That seemed like the destroyer on the ocean, lining myself with doubt and fear and disbelief. I ran away...all the way to the other side of Pacific. One day I woke up and found myself sitting at a stop light in Chiang Mai. It was under that new moon sky that I remember looking up at the stars while on pause on that crimson red, dilapidated motorbike. I was on my way to get, yet another calling card, to call yet again, you my dear...yes you my dear. Rejection kept me in that place where I'd call and call and call until she answered. But then there was that time that she did finally answer and I got the worst news in 7 years...We were done. And I could hear him breathing next to her.
Started my moon time today. Made me wonder when the last time was that we synchronized. Even then, it seemed like it'd been years.