Misty Water Colored

It’s suddenly 1990 again… at least in the small space between the picture I’d unearthed through my closet rummaging, and the point in the back of my mind where my memories are loosely kept. It’s a picture from below, catching a good portion of my ceiling, the top half of an oversized novelty billion dollar bill that I never released from it’s plastic sheilding, and the turned face of my first ever really and for super true girlfriend. The first one that I ever said, “I love you” to, and thought I meant it. She’s looking somewhere, but not at me, smiling and laughing, happy, pretty, and wearing my shirt. There’s a chain around her neck that I surmise has an amulet of some sort hanging from it; though the cross/ring/pendant/pearl rests below the pictures line of sight. I can’t remember what it might have been, but I wish I could.

I don’t talk to her anymore; and didn’t, in fact, much after that near year of dating, on account of her overwhelming disinterest stemming from the shards of a mutually broken heart. I hear she had two children now, but remains unmarried; not living well, but living. I wonder if she is happy.

I look at this picture now, and realize it was taken some 10 years ago. Funny how, emerging from the shock of that realization, is the even more puzzling feeling of a part of me that would still like to save her.

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