The tree atop what we once considered “our” little hill has started to die.
The limbs are bare; the branches have all turned brittle. Broken remnants litter the ground. The trunk is suffering.
But it used to be a happy place.
That agreed upon spot where two lovers used to meet. Down along the river running Grand in the springtime of our romance. That little park strip, just on the Turner side of better gardens. The one filled with fragrant roses. And the brighter freshments never destined to endure.
But that was in the before time. Back when summer warmth teased out natural glories. And allowed us the simple joy of actually feeling alive.
I remember clearly the race towards that little hill. And just how much it meant to me at the time.
The memories flooded over me as I stood, with a dying Michigan sun at my back, briefly allowing myself to embrace the masochist fragrance of memory.
September never felt so fucking lonely.
The memories of all those mad scramble miles. The ones ground out in a ridiculously oversized truck. Just for the opportunity to sit under the shade of that fucking tree. With my favorite girl. And our favorite typewriters. Sprawled out together, cuddling close, on flannel printed with cheery foxes.
Sometimes, she brought tea for us to share. Other times, the stigma of her dying marriage was the only meal we could share. Either way, at the time, I was starving for the embrace of her.
And I could never seem to get my fill.
But lives were different back then.
We were just two damaged hearts, trapped in two different states. Aching for the connection of each other. Desperate to share just one kiss more before having to return to the unpleasant adulting of it all.
Little did I know then that those would prove to be the best of times. Had I better understood, maybe I would have made different choices. Or striven to become a better man. Instead of this drunken, wordy fuck diaster I became.
But maybe that is just my inescapable pedigree. Maybe this is the only part I am destined to play amongst the backdrop of these carnival faces.
Because nothing else ever seems to stick.
And I somehow always wind up alone.
But we once shared something special amidst the backdrop of divorcing promises; we once pledged ourselves to a forever that somehow lasted only two years.
It was the best, and the worst, experience of my life.
If pressed, I’d probably do it all over again.
Because I’m just a hopeless romantic fool like that.
And I’d like to think that maybe love will somehow win in the end…
