Sunday, July 23, 2006


It's almost a year to the week and the days are repeating themselves in the same form. Wandering through Waikiki, not wanting to talk to anyone but desperate for contact. I must have the same look of vulnerability, because the predators were out in force last night. And I've lived this Sunday evening once before, in the tail end of a different July. Cleaning the house, packing, and trying to navigate my way through a minefield of memories. Each object is a trigger, and everything I pack is a new betrayal. And I look through our history and know that the good times won't be repeated, and won't be built upon.

I mourned all this once, and didn't expect to repeat it all. I thought this time the parting would be easy. He'd get a job, get on his feet, I'd help him move, we'd move forward with a friendship. I tried. He tried. But the liquor is still in control.

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