Used to Know

She’s just a person that I used to know

I don’t anymore, I used to though.

People come into your life.

They are so important for a time.

And then they’re not.

How easily we discard another.

To make our lives simple.

To make our lives easy.

 

I am not only discarding.

I am discarded as well.

Another odd chapter

In a stranger’s book.

If I even merit a chapter.

Maybe I am only a footnote.

Maybe even a comma,

A brief pause,

In a full rich life.

 

I am only a person that I used to know.

I don’t anymore, I used to though.

I once was better than this.

A lonely scared person.

Afraid to move forward.

Afraid to move back.

Afraid to take another chance.

With the wounds of the recent past

Still bleeding

Still oozing bitter love.

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Beginning Again

I started writing my fourth novel today.

Sitting in Barnes and Noble, North Charleston.

Not my first choice but my first choice closed down.

An unscrupulous landlord tripled the rent of the little coffee shop.

The outrage lasted almost a week before it disappeared.

Too much effort to keep protests going.

So it closed, without much fanfare.

And the once irritated customers all found different places to

Drink our lattes.

Meet our friends.

Or write our novels.

Something about writing in a bookstore though,

People looking for understanding,

The knowledge of the ages within their grasp.

Lovers leisurely strolling through the aisles,

Smiling, their private jokes turns to public laughter.

I had the idea on how to start an hour ago.

Parts of the story already formed.

Other parts missing or unclear.

But I had a beginning,

And so I finished the mundane chores of the day.

And came here, with my thoughts and my laptop.

To begin, once again.

The excitement, my private joke turning into public laughter.

And I begin.