I’ve moved on too. But I’ve never moved past the memories, and I wonder whether you, despite your silence for nearly two years, ever draw on those memories and allow them to come to the surface. Or perhaps they are buried so deeply, that it is as though I never existed in your life. Memories. That’s what I am going through today. On that anniversary of our last time. And instead of dwelling on the loss of love, I’ve been trying to remember where we fucked. Different places that all had meaning at the time. Sometimes the meaning was simply that we were both horny and we just fucked where we were. Sometimes the meaning was that we knew we would be together and the time was planned and special. Every time we fucked – all those times were special. To me, at least. I remember the first time. In your basement. One week after we first crossed the line into intimacy, emotional at least but ending in a hug, and in that ensuing week we exchanged many words and made many plans, until it was. " If I agree will you promise to stop ringing my phone every two minutes?" "YES!" she said enthusiastically. "I'll see you later Darla and please don't call again." I hung up thephone. I looked at the clock and noticed that I still had time for a powernap. As upset as I was with Darla I was glad that she'd called. I thenfound myself wondering whether this was going to turn out the same way ithad with Sam a few days earlier. One way to test my theory about romancescrewing things up. Darla and I had not been romantic, though...Five PM arrived and my mother, more reliable than an alarm clock awakenedme. "Time to get up," her voice echoed through the hallways. I got up and made my way to the bathroom. I'd cried more in these last fewdays than I had in my entire life. I thought crying was something onlylittle kids did? I took care of business and washed my face. I had nodesire to make myself "pretty" for anyone that afternoon. I just checkedmy face to make sure a human being was staring.
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