I felt this before, she and I pressed against a phone booth glass, not love, yet enough for me to join the army when the French Foreign Legion wouldn’t have me, my young, innocent mind unable to reconcile my head thinks.
Many men run from her until the sin gets into our blood, and
then we crawl back to her like wiggling worms, the way I did when the
discharged from the Army, her parents telling me she’d gone away. When her
letter came, it wasn’t perfumed the way the ones she sent me in the Army, yet enough
to start my head spinning, as I plotted to steal the money I needed to reach
her. I never blamed her for the crime.
Now all these years later, after it all feel apart, my head
spins again, making it clear I might be older, but I’m no wiser
Time does not heal all wounds, not if they go deep enough
and somehow she is still there inside of me.
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