[Lowridenn]

- Conversations in Short Sleeves and Blue Flip-flops –
Of all the places you could have chosen to sit that night,
You sat here, next to me,
On this old rusted swing set that creaks in my backyard.
I cannot remember what it was that made you leave
But I remember sharply what it was that lead you here.

And for tonight I’ve chosen to recall the mechanic conversation
That led up to your smile, your treason,
And the way you left me that night.
Perhaps it was the night sky…
Perhaps it was the innuendos…
Perhaps it was the way you used to look at me.

Somewhere along the conversation,
I think, maybe we gave up
On pirouettes and half-filled cokes.

It was too cold for short sleeves and sandals.
I haven’t been able to look at blue flip-flops quite the same since.
And December’s long nights only remind me of how early you left;
We still had hours before the sun was due up.
That may have been the most important night of my life;
If only I hadn’t forgotten to breathe;
If only I hadn’t spoken in grayscale.

Dearest Catherine,
Please understand that we were simply strangers,
Misunderstood at twenty-three.