I was only sixteen when I tripped over your smile and hit the ground, blinded by a glib sentence and cufflinks shaped like martini glasses. And by now I manage to forget about you for weeks, even months at a time. It's only when I'm preparing for a trip back to Florida, these days, that you really creep back into my brain and take up residence, right there in the bottom left corner of my skull, just beyond the edge of where I can see.
I'm going back for a wedding, and a trip back there always takes a certain amount of preparation, an amount of reinforcing certain walls. I am far too fond of being wounded. But this trip for this wedding is going to be especially dangerous because it's going to haul me right smack back into that most dangerous of years for this nostalgic girl. It'll bring me right back to you.
I've still got to buy plane tickets, and to prepare myself for taking the actual steps involved in going on this trip I pulled out all the cd's I listened to then. I swear I'm trying to be less sentimental and frail, but I am still a creature of habit and there are still things that must be done.
There are whole albums that remind me of you.
I wonder how you're doing, but I will not take that step and find out because there are cliffs here that I will not be falling over. That may be the point of this, in fact; I'm just letting you know from here that I'm still not talking to you.
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