The Gift

You said I could keep it, to remind me of you. Laid in my hands softly, the triangular side faced up showing the motive of a skull with two guitars in the shape of a “X” behind it. The fabric a bright blue, like your eyes. Guitars. You play them with such precision and focus; just as you do most other things that matter to you. But did I matter? To you… Did I matter to you? A gift of friendship or regret or pity t’was it to remind me of you. Either one, I kept it, just like I kept all our memories so firmly in my mind. No regret; the walls that only keep us from living. I don’t regret them but maybe… I kept it for too long. A false hope a preconceived notion a farfetched idea… The idea of us. That idea – As I drive away I look into my rearview mirror and see you stop in the middle of the street stare towards me for a moment. Just a moment. A wavering moment that seemed as fragile and premature as that last embrace. You’re gaze turns downward and you start walking away. That’s how it was and how it is and maybe how it should be and that idea has slipped away I’ve misplaced the gift but held onto something about you that’s not even true. I’ve come to realize that I did not matter enough. To you I did not matter. Then why should you?