My memory is a Polaroid picture left in the sun. The scene is discolored and warped, and I’m left with only an abstract memory as if I had heard the story second hand. But in the language of my heart the events are crystalline.
I scaled the wall of a nervous sheer cliff, and climbed toward the mountain top revelry. My fingers gripped the walls with such intensity that the rocks crumbled in my hands. Just as I thought I had lost my hold, and all I wanted to do was hide, you said yes.
I made my way through the emotional spectrum, in the time it took us to sway from left to right. Do you remember when we danced?