I am tempted to collect all the photographs she went me over
the early part of this year, to make a pinup calendar with, something for me to
remember her by after she leaves and won’t be seated across the table from me each
Tuesday
Photographs never grow old and so, she remains the same
person each time, immortalized into 12 months or maybe 24, so, when I flip the
page, the new person I see if the one I recall, through in truth, I will miss
the current one, and may not recognize the real her if too much time passes and
I have spent too many lonely nights poised over the pictures of the past, pictures
that depict the person who she was rather than the person she has become, the
person I see each night in my dreams, who does not exist, and whom I will
always miss, she, the perpetual pinup gal she does not know she has become, page
after page, hat on, hat off, deep eyes framed in thick mascara, and I wonder now
as she moves on will she still appear to be in the same way every time.
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