Some love is not to be forgotten
“I heard news today that my old lover is making his way north. Back to where he was when I originally found him.
I can almost hear the trail in our old love songs being played in jukeboxes of empty shit bars that he’ll hit along the way. He’s looking for some sort of peace in the madness it takes to be a man. To sort through the pain of being human and facing the truth of ideas that we have of ourselves. Are they just ideas and memories of grandiose stories of self or are they real? Do they hold any truth? Are the mad, mad for a reason and a price to pay for being riddled with greatness. I laugh to myself and I can’t remember the term he used to use, I believe it was that he saw himself as a modern-day caveman. He was a savage of love. Watching him was like watching the storm come directly at you. I was not a victim of him and was just as guilty in partaking but I felt the wrath of his destruction as he passed through. He left me with weather torn lips and a memory of how all I wanted desperately was to be seen by the eye of his storm. His words echoing in my head like thunder in the distance telling me that he would leave a dog with his piercing green eyes so I could never forget him watching me like he will be with me always. Maybe that's why Ollie, my dog, has so many human qualities, carrying the good parts of his spirit. As I write of him I can only imagine the things he will or has written of me. Just the thought of his twisted mind writing words of our love past makes me smile. Writers write and I hope his fingers push against the keys of his passed down typewriter again with force. Some love is not to be forgotten, like old injuries that ache in your bones when it rains.”
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