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For some reason, I'm remembering a night nearly (or more than?) two years ago. Talking to her in front of someone else's house for a half hour, tops. Then the someone else's mom stuck her head out the door to announce the coming of midnight and the imminent demise of that conversation.
It's a very personal memory, all the stranger because I don't remember a word of what was said. And it's against my better judgement that I even publish this. Then again, my judgement is neither better nor worse, but merely not to be relied upon (viz. Proverbs 3). I don't want to relive the past two years; forget the bridges: entire rivers have been burnt.
But just for a moment, I wonder what would have happened had there been more nights like that. And you can attack the tackiness of Joe Diffie and country music (and two-syllable rhymes) in general, but:
Somewhere down that road not taken
Will forever live the dreams that were forsaken
Just every now and then
I miss a place I've never been
Somewhere down that road not taken.
And there was this, done by two friends whom I rarely speak to any more, if for very different reasons. Once, someone cared enough for me to write on my car. We'll call it Steve. Steve's a pretty name.
3:58 AM
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