There may be a day some time in the future when I no longer care about you.   The familiar feeling of your embrace would be like a memory of a good book I’ve read, or a movie I’ve seen.  Like a memory of my hand in David’s in the Azalea Garden, in June of 2007.  So what if I remember the month and year, I am good with calendars, that’s all.  It might have been May, too.  When do the azaleas bloom?  It was a Tuesday.

About you, I’ll remember there were Mondays. Continue reading “Mondays” →