My life, my love/I saw you were getting married

by maddrunkgenius

My life, my love

I met you at Wal-Mart and found you buying bras. You were embarrassed, but you shouldn’t have been. I was drunk, but I shouldn’t have been. I recognized you, but only barely, and said hello, and loved you as you once loved me.

You filled my dreams with thoughts of yore, with memories of times lost to time, of memories that never happened. I blame you (I must, you know) but I love you more now for it than I ever did then.

We should have been together, should be together, but you have two kids, darling, lovely thing, and you won’t be with me now, if you ever would have. So I’m stuck in my mind, in my dreams, sleeping and thinking of you and the things that spring forth from your associations. Ho ho! How terrible, nostalgia.

I’d trade it for nothing, though, I think, my sweet Allison.

I saw you were getting married

Oh my darling (oh darling who could have, should have, still might have been my darling). You, you don’t know who you are, but I do (and he does, but if he says anything of it, I’ll take his body out of town and dump it in that ditch) are finally getting married. So salutations and congratulations on this marvelous occasion. You whore.

Getting married at our age? You’re pregnant, aren’t you? I bet so you nasty cunt, got knocked up and then decided to put a ring on your finger. YOU AREN’T FOOLING ANYONE. Least of all me.

I’m sorry. I shouldn’t think of it so much as LOSING an old crush as GAINING a mortal enemy. Your new husband is a fucking faggot piece of shit, and one day he won’t come home. He’ll have run off (you’ll think) and then I’ll be there to console you and make everything OK.

Ah, already I miss your tiny mouth (it was so small, I can’t believe it even now). You were so short, but your breasts were enormous. You talked of getting breast reduction surgery for your back’s sake, and I pleaded with you not to do it, for mankind’s sake. Just stay on your back where you belonged and they wouldn’t give you any problems, I said. (AND YOU LAUGHED! My God, what kind of woman were you?)

You lost so much weight during that one year of junior high school (that must be where your breasts came from). I wonder if you ever gained it back? The last I saw you (was it four years ago, between the buildings at old OC?) you still hadn’t, were still so pretty, were still so nice. I choose to remember you like this, regardless, like this or something before. I should have said yes to the dance. Alas, such a cute lass you were.

Whatever. I wish you well, is the point of all this. I really do wish you well. You always seemed a genuinely nice person, deserving happiness when so few of us do. I didn’t know you then, not really, and I’m sure less now, but for a time you liked me, and for that, I’ll always love you, in the fond, nostalgic way I love anything I love. Sweet and artificial, but I hope the love you have is real, your wedding of joy and not necessity, or even if so, something grows so that your adult life is a happy one. I’m sure his will be as long as he’s with you.

From far away, floating and remote, I care. But I don’t want anything to do with you, your life, especially not now. Still, I’d like to hear later that things are well with you, because that helps keep me well, in the vicarious way that always satisfies.